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THE     LIFE 


OF 


JOHN    STERLING: 


BY 


THOMAS    CARLYLE. 


SECOND      EDITION. 


BOSTON: 

PHILLIPS,    SAMPSON    AND    COMPANY. 
1852. 


WKIGHT     AND     HASTY,      PRINTERS, 

No.  3  Water  Street. 


CONTENTS. 


PART    I. 


PAGE 


Chap.  I. 

Introductory 

•                  •                  • 

7 

II. 

Birth  and  Parentage 

•                  •                  • 

.       16 

III. 

Schools  :  Llanblethian  ; 

Paris  ;  London 

.      24 

IV. 

Universities  :  Glasgow  ; 

Cambridge 

44 

V. 

A  Profession 

•                  •                  • 

54 

VI. 

Literature  :  The  Athenaeum     . 

61 

VII. 

Regent  Street 

•                  •                  •                  < 

64 

VIII. 

Coleridge 

•                  «                  • 

.      73 

IX. 

Spanish  Exiles 

•                  •                  • 

85 

X. 

ToRRIJOS 

«                  •                  •                  i 

90 

XL 

Marriage:   Ill-Health; 

West  Indies 

100 

XII. 

Island  of  St.  Vincent 

•                  •                  • 

105 

XIII. 

A  Catastrophe 

•                  •                  • 

116 

XIV. 

Pause 

•                  •                 • 

121 

XV. 

Bonn;   Herstmonceux 

•                  •                  • 

126 

PAET  n. 


Chap.  I.  Curate 

II.  Not  Curate 

III.  Bayswater 

IV.  To  Bordeaux 


135 

140 
160 
175 


IV 


CONTENTS. 


Chap.  V.  To  Madeira        .... 

.     192 

VI.  Literature  :  The  Sterling  Club 

.     207 

VII.  Italy 

.     215 

VIII.  Clifton 

.    242 

IX.  Two  Winters    .... 

.     260 

X.  Falmouth  :  Poebis 

.     273 

XI.  Naples  :  Poems           .         .         .         . 

.    292 

XII.  Disaster  on  Disaster 

.     305 

Xin.  Ventnor  :  Death       .         .        ~.         . 

.     323 

XIV.  Conclusion 

.    340 

LIFE  OF  JOHN   STERLING. 


PART    I. 


1# 


JOHN     STEELING. 


CHAPTER  I. 


INTRODUCTORY. 


Near  seven  years  ago,  a  short  while  before  his  death  in 
1844,  John  Sterling  committed  the  care  of  his  literary 
Character  and  printed  Writings  to  two  friends,  Archdeacon 
Hare  and  myself.  His  estimate  of  the  bequest  was  far 
from  overweening  ;  to  few  men  could  the  small  sum-total  of 
his  activities  in  this  world  seem  more  inconsiderable  than, 
in  those  last  solemn  days,  it  did  to  him.  He  had  burnt 
much  ;  found  much  unworthy  ;  looking  steadfastly  into  the 
silent  continents  of  Death  and  Eternity,  a  brave  man's 
judgments  about  his  own  sorry  work  in  the  field  of  Time 
are  not  apt  to  be  too  lenient.  But,  in  fine,  here  was  some 
portion  of  his  work  which  the  world  had  already  got  hold 
of,  and  which  he  could  not  burn.  This  too,  since  it  was 
not  to  be  abolished  and  annihilated,  but  must  still  for  some 
time  live  and  act,  he  wished  to  be  wisely  settled,  as  the 
rest  had  been.     And  so  it  was  left  in  charge  to  us,  the  sur- 


8  JOHN    STERLING. 

vivors,  to  do  for  it  -what  we  judged  fittest,  if  indeed  doing 
nothing  did  not  seem  the  fittest  to  us.  This  message,  com- 
municated after  his  decease,  was  naturally  a  sacred  one  to 
Mr.  Hare  and  me. 

After  some  consultation  on  it,  and  survey  of  the  difficul- 
ties and  delicate  considerations  involved  in  it,  Archdeacon 
Hare  and  I  agreed  that  the  whole  task,  of  selecting  what 
Writings  were  to  be  reprinted,  and  of  drawing  up  a  Biogra- 
phy to  introduce  them,  should  be  left  to  him  alone ;  and 
done  without  interference  of  mine  : — as  accordingly  it  was,* 
in  a  manner  surely  far  superior  to  the  common,  in  every 
good  quality  of  editing  ;  and  visibly  everywhere  bearing 
testimony  to  the  friendliness,  the  piety,  perspicacity  and 
other  gifts  and  virtues  of  that  eminent  and  amiable  man. 

In  one  respect,  however,  if  in  only  one,  the  arrangement 
had  been  unfortunate.  Archdeacon  Hare,  both  by  natural 
tendency  and  by  his  position  as  a  Churchman,  had  been 
led,  in  editing  a  Work  not  free  from  ecclesiastical  heresies, 
and  especially  in  writing  a  Life  very  full  of  such,  to  dwell 
with  preponderating  emphasis  on  that  part  of  his  subject ; 
by  no  means  extenuating  the  facts,  nor  yet  passing  lightly 
over  it  (which  a  layman  could  have  done)  as  needing  no 
extenuation  ;  but  carefully  searching  into  it,  with  the  view 
of  excusing  and  explaining  it ;  dwelling  on  it,  presenting 
all  the  documents  of  it,  and  as  it  were  spreading  it  over  the 
whole  field  of  his  delineation  ;  as  if  religious  heterodoxy 
had  been  the  grand  fact  of  Sterling's  life,  which  even  to 
the  Archdeacon's  mind  it  could  by  no  means  seem  to  be. — 
Hinc  nice  lachrym(B.     For  the  Religious  Newspapers,  and 

*  Jolin  Sterling's  Essays  and  Tales,  with  Life,  by  Archdeacon  Hare.— 
Parker :  London,  1848. 


INTRODUCTORY.  9 

Periodical  Heresy-hunters,  getting  very  lively  in  those 
years,  were  prompt  to  seize  the  cue,  and  have  prosecuted 
and  perhaps  still  prosecute  it,  in  their  sad  way,  to  all 
lengths  and  breadths.  John  Sterling's  character  and  writ- 
ings, which  had  little  business  to  be  spoken  of  in  any 
Church-court,  have  hereby  been  carried  thither  as  if  for  an 
exclusive  trial ;  and  the  mournfuUest  set  of  pleadings,  out 
of  which  nothing  but  a  misjudgment  can  be  formed,  prevail 
there  ever  since.  The  noble  Sterling,  a  radiant  child  of 
the  empyrean,  clad  in  bright  auroral  hues  in  the  memory 
of  all  that  knew  him, — what  is  he  doing  here  in  inquisitorial 
sanbenito,  with  nothing  but  ghastly  spectralities  prowling 
round  him,  and  inarticulately  screeching  and  gibbering 
"what  they  call  their  judgment  on  him ! 

'  The  sin  of  Hare's  Book,'  says  one  of  my  Correspond- 
ents in  those  years,  '  is  easily  defined,  and  not  very  con- 
demnable,  but  it  is  nevertheless  ruinous  to  his  task  as 
Biographer.  He  takes  up  Sterling  as  a  clergyman  mere- 
ly. Sterling,  I  find,  was  a  curate  for  exactly  eight  months  ; 
during  eight  months  and  no  more  had  he  any  special  rela- 
tion to  the  Church.  But  he  was  a  man,  and  had  relation 
to  the  Universe,  for  eight  and  thirty  years :  and  it  is  in 
this  latter  character,  to  which  all  the  others  were  but  fea- 
tures and  transitory  hues,  that  we  wish  to  know  him.  His 
battle  with  hereditary  Church- formulas  was  severe  ;  but  it 
was  by  no  means  his  one  battle  with  things  inherited,  nor 
indeed  his  chief  battle  ;  neither,  according  to  my  observa. 
tion  of  what  it  was,  is  it  successfully  delineated  or  summed 
up  in  this  Book.  The  truth  is,  nobody  that  had  known 
Sterling  would  recognize  a  feature  of  him  here  ;  you  would 
never  dream  that  this  Book  treated  of  him  at  all.     A  pale, 


df,^'^^ 


10  JOHN    STERLING. 

sickly  shadow  in  torn  surplice  is  presented  to  us  here; 
weltering  bewildered  amid  heaps  of  what  you  call  "  He- 
brew Old-clothes ;"  wrestling,  with  impotent  impetuosity, 
to  free  itself  from  the  baleful  imbroglio,  as  if  that  had  been 
its  one  function  in  life  :  who  in  this  miserable  figure  would 
recognize  the  brilliant,  beautiful  and  cheerful  John  Ster- 
ling, with  his  ever-flowing  wealth  of  ideas,  fancies,  imagina- 
tions ;  with  his  frank  affections,  inexhaustible  hopes,  audac" 
ities,  activities,  and  general  radiant  vivacity  of  heart  and 
intelligence,  which  made  the  presence  of  him  an  illumination 
and  inspiration  wherever  he  went  ?  It  is  too  bad.  Let  a 
man  be  honestly  forgotten  when  his  life  ends  ;  but  let  him 
not  be  misremembered  in  this  way.  To  be  hung  up  as  an 
ecclesiastical  scarecrow,  as  a  target  for  heterodox  and 
orthodox  to  practice  arehery  upon,  is  no  fate  that  can  be 
due  to  the  memory  of  Sterling.  It  was  not  as  a  ghastly 
phantasm,  choked  in  Thirty-nine  article  controversies,  or 
miserable  Semitic,  Anti-semitic  street-riots, — in  scepticisms, 
agonized  self-se'ekings, — that  this  man  appeared  in  life  ;  nor 
as  such,  if  the  world  still  wishes  to  look  at  him,  should  you 
suffer  the  world's  memory  of  him  now  to  be.  Once  for  all, 
it  is  unjust ;  emphatically  untrue  as  an  image  of  John 
Sterling:  perhaps  to  few  men  that  lived  long  with  him 
could  such  an  interpretation  of  their  existence  be  more  in- 
applicable.' 

Whatever  truth  there  might  be  in  these  rather  passionate 
representations,  and  to  myself  there  wanted  not  a  painful 
feeling  of  their  truth,  it  by  no  means  appeared  what  help 
or  remedy  any  friend  of  Sterling's,  and  especially  one  so 
related  to  the  matter  as  myself,  could  attempt  in  the  in- 


INTRODUCTORY.  11 

terim.  Perhaps  endure  in  patience  till  the  dust  laid  itself 
again,  as  all  dust  does  if  you  leave  it  well  alone  ?  Much 
obscuration  would  thus  of  its  own  accord  fall  away  ;  and, 
in  Mr.  Hare's  narrative  itself,  apart  from  his  commentary, 
many  features  of  Sterling's  true  character  would  become 
decipherable  to  such  as  sought  them.  Censure,  blame  of 
this  Work  of  Mr.  Hare's  was  naturally  far  from  my 
thoughts.  A  Work  which  distinguishes  itself  by  human 
piety  and  candid  intelligence ;  which,  in  all  details,  is  care- 
ful, lucid,  exact;  and  which  offers,  as  we  say,  to  the  obser- 
vant reader  that  will  interpret  facts,  many  traits  of  Sterling 
besides  his  heterodoxy.  Censure  of  it,  from  me  especiallyj 
is  not  the  thing  due  ;  from  me  a  far  other  thing  is  due ! 

On  the  whole,  my  private  thought  was :  First,  How 
happy  it  comparatively  is,  for  a  man  of  any  earnestness  of 
life,  to  have  no  Biogi-aphy  written  of  him ;  but  to  return 
silently,  with  his  small,  sorely  foiled  bit  of  work,  to  the 
Supreme  Silences,  who  alone  can  judge  of  it  or  him  ;  and 
not  to  trouble  the  reviewers,  and  greater  or  lesser  public, 
with  attempting  to  judge  it  !  The  idea  of  '  fame,'  as  they 
call  it,  posthumous  or  other,  does  not  inspire  one  with 
much  ecstasy  in  these  points  of  view. — Secondly,  That 
Sterling's  performance  and  real  or  seeming  importance  in 
this  world  was  actually  not  of  a  kind  to  demand  an  express 
Biography,  even  according  to  the  world's  usages.  His 
character  was  not  supremely  original ;  neither  was  his  fate 
in  the  world  wonderful.  What  he  did  was  inconsiderable 
enough ;  and  as  to  what  it  lay  in  him  to  have  done,  this 
was  but  a  problerii,  now  beyond  possibility  of  settlement. 
Why  had  a  Biography  been  inflicted  on  this  man  ;  why  had 
not  No  biography,  and  the  privilege  of  all  the  weary,  been 


12  JOHN    STERLING. 

his  lot  ? — Thirdly,  That  such  lot,  however,  could  now  no 
longer  be  my  good  Sterling's ;  a  tumult  having  risen 
around  his  name,  enough  to  impress  some  pretended  like- 
ness of  him,  (about  as  like  as  the  Guy-Fauxes  are,  on 
Gunpowder  Day)  upon  the  minds  of  many  men  :  so  that 
he  could  not  be  forgotten,  and  could  only  be  misremem- 
bered,  as  matters  now  stood. 

Whereupon  as  practical  conclusion  to  the  whole,  arose 
by  degrees  this  final  thought.  That,  at  some  calmer  season, 
when  the  theological  dust  had  well  fallen,  and  both  the 
matter  itself,  and  my  feeUngs  on  it,  were  in  a  suitabler 
condition,  I  ought  to  give  my  testimony  about  this  friend 
whom  I  had  known  so  well,  and  record  clearly  what  my 
knowledge  of  him  was.  This  has  ever  since  seemed  a  kind 
of  duty  I  had  to  do  in  the  world  before  leaving  it. 

And  so,  having  on  my  hands  some  leisure  at  this  time, 
and  being  bound  to  it  by  evident  considerations,  one  of 
which  ought  to  be  especially  sacred  to  me,  I  decide  to  fling 
down  on  paper  some  outline  of  what  my  recollections  and 
reflections  contain  in  reference  to  this  most  friendly,  bright 
and  beautiful  human  soul ;  who  walked  with  me  for  a  sea- 
son in  this  world,  and  remains  to  me  very  memorable  while 
I  continue  in  it.  Gradually,  if  facts  simple  enough  in 
themselves  can  be  narrated  as  they  came  to  pass,  it  will  be 
seen  what  kind  of  man  this  was ;  to  what  extent  condemna- 
ble  for  imaginary  heresy  and  other  crimes,  to  what  extent 
laudable  and  loveable  for  noble  manful  orthodoxy  and  other 
virtues  ; — and  whether  the  lesson  his  life  had  to  teach  us  is 
not  much  the  reverse  of  what  the  Religious  Newapapers 
hitherto  educe  from  it. 


INTRODUCTORY.  13 

Certainly  it  was  not  as  a  '  sceptic '  that  you  could  define 
him,  whatever  his  definition  might  be.  BeUef,  not  doubt, 
attended  him  at  all  points  of  his  progress  ;  rather  a  ten- 
dency to  too  hasty  and  headlong  belief.  Of  all  men  he 
was  the  least  prone  to  what  you  could  call  scepticism :  dis- 
eased self-listenings,  self-questionings,  impotently  painful 
dubitations,  all  this  fatal  nosology  of  spiritual  maladies,  so 
rife  in  our  day,  was  eminently  foreign  to  him.  Quite  ou 
the  other  side  lay  Sterling's  faults,  such  as  they  were.  In 
fact,  you  could  observe,  in  spite  of  his  sleepless  intellectual 
vivacity,  he  was  not  properly  a  thinker  at  all ;  his  faculties 
were  of  the  active,  not  of  the  passive  or  contemplative 
sort.  A  brilliant  improvisatore  ;  rapid  in  thought,  in  word 
and  in  act ;  everywhere  the  promptest  and  least  hesitating 
of  men.  I  likened  him  often,  in  my  banterings,  to  sheet- 
lightning  ;  and  reproachfully  prayed  that  he  would  concen- 
trate himself  into  a  bolt,  and  rive  the  mountain-barriers  for 
us,  instead  of  merely  playing  on  them  and  irradiating 
them. 

True,  he  had  his  '  religion '  to  seek,  and  painfully  shape 
together  for  himself,  out  of  the  abysses  of  conflicting  disbe- 
lief and  sham-belief  and  bedlam  delusion,  now  filling  the 
world,  as  all  men  of  reflection  have  ;  and  in  this  respect 
too, — more  especially  as  his  lot  in  the  battle  appointed  for 
us  all  was,  if  you  can  understand  it,  victory  and  not  de- 
feat,— he  is  an  expressive  emblem  of  his  time,  and  an 
instruction  and  possession  to  his  contemporaries.  For,  I 
say,  it  is  by  no  means  as  a  vanquished  doubter  that  he 
figures  in  the  memory  of  those  who  knew  him  ;  but  rather 
as  a  victorious  believer yOmx^  under  great  difficulties  a  vict^J 
rious  doer.  An  example  to  us  all,  not  of  lamed  misery/^ 
2. 


14  JOHN    STERLING. 

helpless  spiritual  bewilderment  and  sprawling  despair,  or 
any  kind  of  drownage  in  the  foul  welter  of  our  so-called 
religious  or  other  controversies  and  confusions  ;  but  of  a 
swift  and  valiant  vanquisher  of  all  these ;  a  noble  assertor 
of  himself,  as  well  as  worker  and  speaker,  in  spite  of  all 
these.  Continually,  so  far  as  he  went,  he  was  a  teacher, 
by  act  and  word,  of  hope,  clearness,  activity,  veracity,  and 
human  courage  and  nobleness :  the  preacher  of  a  good 
gospel  to  all  men,  not  of  a  bad  to  any  man.  The  man, 
whether  in  priest's  cassock  or  other  costume  of  men,  who  is 
the  enemy  or  hater  of  John  Sterling,  may  assure  himself 
that  he  does  not  yet  know  him, — that  miserable  differences 
of  mere  costume  and  dialect  still  divide  him,  whatsoever  is 
worthy,  catholic  and  perennial  in  him,  from  a  brother  soul 
who,  more  than  most  in  his  day,  was  his  brother  and  not 
his  adversary  in  regard  to  all  that. 

Nor  shall  the  irremediable  drawback  that  Sterling  was 
not  current  in  the  Newspapers,  that  he  achieved  neither 
what  the  world  calls  greatness  nor  what  intrinsically  is 
such,  altogether  discourage  me.  What  his  natural  size, 
and  natural  and  accidental  limits  were,  will  gradually  ap- 
pear, if  my  sketching  be  successful.  And  I  have  remarked 
that  a  true  delineation  of  the  smallest  man,  and  his  scene 
of  pilgrimage  through  life,  is  capable  of  interesting  the 
greatest  man ;  that  all  men  are  to  an  unspeakable  degree 
brothers,  each  man's  life  a  strange  emblem  of  every  man's  ; 
and  that  Human  Portraits,  faithfully  drawn,  are  of  all 
pictures  the  welcomest  on  human  walls.  Monitions  and 
moralities  enough  may  lie  in  this  small  Work,  if  honestly 
written  and  honestly  read  ; — and,  in  particular,  if  any 
image  of  John  Sterling  and  his  Pilgrimage  through   our 


INTRODUCTORY.  15 

poor  Nineteenth  Century  be  one  day  wanted  by  the  world, 
and  they  can  find  some  shadow  of  a  true  image  here,  my 
swift  scribbling  (which  shall  be  very  swift  and  immediate) 
may  prove  useful  by  and  by. 


1 6  JOHN    STERLING. 


CHAPTER    II. 

BIRTH  AND   PARENTAGE. 

John  Sterling  was  bora  at  Kaimes  Castle,  a  kind  of 
dilapidated  baronial  residence  to  -which  a  small  farm  was 
then  attached,  rented  by  his  Father,  in  the  Isle  of  Bute, — 
on  the  20th  July,  1806.  Both  his  parents  were  Irish  by 
birth,  Scotch  by  extraction ;  and  became,  as  he  himself 
did,  essentially  English  by  long  residence  and  habit.  Of 
John  himself  Scotland  has  little  or  nothing  to  claim  except 
the  birth  and  genealogy,  for  he  left  it  almost  before  the 
years  of  memory ;  and  in  his  mature  days  regarded  it,  if 
with  a  little  more  recognition  and  intelligence,  yet  without 
more  participation  in  any  of  its  accents  outward  or  inward, 
than  other  natives  of  Middlesex  or  Surrey,  where  the 
scene  of  his  chief  education  lay. 

The  climate  of  Bute  is  rainy,  soft  of  temperature  ;  with 
skies  of  unusual  depth  and  brilliancy,  while  the  weather 
is  fair.  In  that  soft  rainy  climate,  on  that  wild-wooded  rocky 
coast,  with  its  gnarled  mountains  and  green  silent  valleys, 
with  its  seething  rain-storms  and  many-sounding  seas,  was 
young  Sterling  ushered  into  his  first  schooling  in  this 
world.  I  remember  one  little  anecdote  his  Father  told  me 
of  those  first  years  :  One  of  the  cows  had  calved  ;  young 
John,  still  in  long-clothes,  was  permitted  to  go,  holding  by 
his  father's  hand,  and  look  at  the  newly-arrived  calf;  a 
mystery  which  he  surveyed  with  open  intent  eyes,  and  the 
silent  exercise  of  all  the  scientific  faculties  he  had  ; — very 


BIRTH    AND    PARENTAGE.  17 

strange  mystery  indeed,  this  new  arrival,  and  fresh  denizen 
of  our  Universe  :  "  Wull't  eat  a-body  ?"  said  John  in  his 
first  practical  Scotch,  inquiring  into  the  tendencies  this 
mystery  might  have  to  fall  upon  a  little  fellow  and  consume 
him  as  provision  ;  "  Will  it  eat  one.  Father  ?" — Poor  little 
open-eyed  John :  the  family  long  bantered  him  with  this 
anecdote  ;  and  we,  in  far  other  years  laughed  heartily  on 
hearing  it.  Simple  peasant  laborers,  ploughers,  house-ser- 
vants, occasional  fisher-people  too ;  and  the  sight  of  ships, 
and  crops,  and  Nature's  doings  where  Art  has  little  med- 
dled with  her :  this  was  the  kind  of  schooling  our  young 
friend  had,  first  of  all ;  on  this  bench  of  the  grand  world- 
school  did  he  sit,  for  the  first  four  years  of  his  life. 

Edward  Sterling  his  Father,  a  man  who  subsequently 
came  to  considerable  notice  in  the  world,  was  originally 
of  Waterford  in  Munster  ;  son  of  the  Episcopalian  Clergy- 
man there  ;  and  chief  representative  of  a  family  of  some 
standing  in  those  parts.  Family  founded,  it  appears,  by  a 
Colonel  Robert  Sterling,  called  also  Sir  Robert  Sterling  ;  a 
Scottish  Gustavus-Adolphus  soldier,  whom  the  breaking  out 
of  the  Civil  War  had  recalled  from  his  German  campaign- 
ings,  and  had  before  long,  though  not  till  after  some  waver- 
ings on  his  part,  attached  firmly  to  the  Duke  of  Ormond 
and  to  the  King's  Party  in  that  quarrel.  A  little  bit  of 
genealogy,  since  it  lies  ready  to  my  hand,  gathered  long 
ago  out  of  wider  studies,  and  pleasantly  connects  things 
individual  and  present  with  the  dim  universal  crowd  of 
things  past, — may  as  well  be  inserted  here  as  thrown  away. 

This  Colonel  Robert  designates  himself  Sterling  of  '  Glo- 
rat ;'  I  believe,  a  younger  branch  of  the  well-known  Stir- 
lings  of  Keir  of  Stirlingshire.  It  appears  he  prospered  in 
2* 


18  JOHN    STERLING. 

his  soldiering  and  other  business,  in  those  bad  Ormond 
times ;  being  a  man  of  energy,  ardor  and  intelligence, — 
probably  prompt  enough  both  with  his  word  and  with  his 
stroke.  There  survives  yet,  in  the  Common  Journals,* 
dim  notice  of  his  controversies  and  adventures ;  especially 
of  one  controversy  he  had  got  into  with  certain  victorious 
Parliamentary  official  parties,  while  his  own  party  lay  van- 
quished, during  what  was  called  the  Ormond  Cessation,  or 
Temporary  Peace  made  by  Ormond  with  the  Parliament  in 
1646  : — in  which  controversy  Colonel  Robert,  after  repeat- 
ed applications,  journeyings  to  London,  attendances  upon 
committees,  and  such  like,  finds  himself  worsted,  declared 
to  be  in  the  wrong  ;  and  so  vanishes  from  the  Commons 
Journals. 

What  became  of  him  when  Cromwell  got  to  Ireland,  and 
to  Munster,  I  have  not  heard  ;  his  knighthood,  dating  from 
the  very  year  of  Cromwell's  Invasion  (1649),  indicates  a 
man  expected  to  do  his  best  on  the  occasion : — as  in  all 
probability  he  did  ;  had  not  Tredah  Storm  proved  ruinous, 
and  the  neck  of  this  Irish  War  been  broken  at  once. 
Doubtless  the  Colonel  Sir  Robert  followed  or  attended  his 
Duke  of  Ormond  into  foreign  parts,  and  gave  up  his  man- 
agement of  Munster,  while  it  was  yet  time :  for  after  the 
Restoration  we  find  him  again,  safe,  and  as  was  natural, 
flourishing  with  new  splendor ;  gifted,  recompensed  with 
lands ; — settled,  in  short,  on  fair  revenues  in  those  Munster 
regions.  He  appears  to  have  had  no  children ;  but  to  have 
left  his  property  to  William,  a  younger  brother  who  had 
followed  him  into  Ireland.     From  this  William  descends 

*Common  Journals,  iv.  15  (10th  January  1644-5) ;  and  again  v.  307  &c., 
498  (18tli  September  1647— 16tli  of  March  1647--8). 


BIRTH    AND    PARENTAGE.  19 

the  family  which,  in  the  years  we  treat  of,  had  Edward 
Sterling,  Father  of  our  John,  for  its  representative.  And 
now  enough  of  genealogy. 

Of  Edward  Sterling,  Captain  Edward  Sterling  as  his 
title  was,  who  in  the  latter  period  of  his  life  became  well- 
known  in  London  poHtical  society,  whom  indeed  all  Eng- 
land, with  a  curious  mixture  of  mockery  and  respect  and 
even  fear,  knew  well  as  "  the  Thunderer  of  the  Times 
Newspaper,"  there  were  much  to  be  said,  did  the  present 
task  and  its  limits  permit.  As  perhaps  it  might,  on  certain 
terms  ?  What  is  indispensable  let  us  not  omit  to  say. 
The  history  of  a  man's  childhood  is  the  description  of  his 
parents  and  environment :  this  is  his  inarticulate  but  highly 
important  history,  in  those  first  times,  while  of  articulate 
he  has  yet  none. 

Edward  Sterling  had  now  just  entered  on  his  thirty- 
fourth  year;  and  was  already  a  man  experienced  in  for 
tunes  and  changes.  A  native  of  Waterford  in  Munster,  as 
already  mentioned ;  born  in  the  '  Deanery  House  of  Wa- 
terford, 27th  February,  1773,'  say  the  registers.  For  his 
Father,  as  we  learn,  resided  in  the  Deanery  House,  though 
he  was  not  himself  Dean,  but  only  '  Curate  of  the  Cathe- 
dral '  (whatever  that  may  mean)  ;  he  was  withal  rector  of 
two  other  livings,  and  the  Dean's  friend, — friend  indeed  of 
the  Dean's  kinsmen  the  Beresfords  generally  ;  whose  grand 
house  of  Curraghmore,  near  by  Waterford,  was  a  familiar 
haunt  of  his  and  his  children's.  This  reverend  gentleman, 
along  with  his  three  livings  and  high  acquaintanceships, 
had  inherited  political  connections ; — inherited  especially  a 
Government  Pension,  with  survivorship  for  still   one   life 


20  JOHN    STERLING. 

beyond  his  own ;  his  father  having  been  Clerk  of  the  Irish 
House  of  Commons  at  the  time  of  the  Union,  of  which 
office  the  lost  salary  was  compensated  in  this  way.  The 
Pension  was  of  two  hundred  pounds ;  and  only  expired 
with  the  life  of  Edward,  John's  Father,  in  1847.  There 
were,  and  still  are,  daughters  of  the  family ;  but  Edward 
was  the  only  son  ; — descended,  too,  from  the  Scottish  hero 
Wallace,  as  the  old  gentleman  would  sometimes  admonish 
him  ;  his  own  wife,  Edward's  mother,  being  of  that  name, 
and  boasting  herself,  as  most  Scotch  Wallaces  do,  to  have 
that  blood  in  her  veins. 

This  Edward  had  picked  up,  at  Waterford,  and  among 
the  young  Beresfords  of  Curraghmore  and  elsewhere,  a 
thoroughly  Irish  form  of  character :  fire  and  fervor,  vitality 
jof  all  kinds,  in  genial  abundance ;  but  in  a  much  more 
loquacious,  ostentatious,  much  louder  style  than  is  freely 
patronised  on  this  side  of  the  Channel.  Of  Irish  accent  in 
speech  he  had  entirely  divested  himself,  so  as  not  to  be 
traced  by  any  vestige  in  that  respect;  but  his  Irish  accent 
of  character,  in  all  manner  or  other  more  important  respects, 
was  very  recognizable.  An  impetuous  man,  full  of  real 
energy,  and  immensely  conscious  of  the  same  ;  who  trans- 
acted every  thing  not  with  the  minimum  of  fuss  and  noise, 
but  with  the  maximum  :  a  very  Captain  Whirlwind,  as  one 
was  tempted  to  call  him. 

In  youth,  he  had  studied  at  Trinity  College,  Dublin  ; 
visited  the  Inns  of  Court  here,  and  trained  himself  for  the 
Irish  Bar.  To  the  Bar  he  had  been  duly  called,  and  was 
waiting  for  the  results, — when,  in  his  twenty-fifth  year,  the 
Irish  Rebellion  broke  out ;  whereupon  the  Irish  Barristers 
decided  to  raise  a  corps  of  loyal  Volunteers,  and'a  complete 
change  introduced  itself  into  Edward  Sterling's  way  of  hfe. 


BIRTH    AND    PARENTAGE.  21 

For,  naturally,  he  had  joined  the  arraj  of  Volunteers  ; — 
fought,  I  have  heard,  '  in  three  actions  with  the  rebels' 
(Vinegar  Hill,  for  one)  ;  and  doubtless  fought  well :  but  in 
the  mess-rooms,  among  the  young  military  and  civil  officials, 
with  all  of  whom  he  was  a  favorite,  he  had  acquired  a  taste 
for  soldier  life,  and  perhaps  high  hopes  of  succeeding  in  it ; 
at  all  events,  having  a  commission  in  the  Cheshire  Militia 
offered  him,  he  accepted  that ;  altogether  quitted  the  Bar, 
and  became  Captain  Sterling  thenceforth.  From  the 
Militia,  it  appears,  he  had  volunteered  with  his  Company 
into  the  Line  ;  and  under  some  disappointments,  and  official 
delays  of  expected  promotion,  was  continuing  to  serve  as 
Captain  there,  '  Captain  of  the  Eighth  Battalion  of  Re- 
serve,' say  the  Military  Almanacks  of  1803, — in  which 
year  the  quarters  happened  to  be  Derry,  where  new  events 
awaited  him.  At  a  ball  in  Derry  he  met  with  Miss  Hester 
Coningham,  the  queen  of  the  scene,  and  of  the  fair  world 
in  Derry  at  that  time.  The  acquaintance,  in  spite  of  some 
opposition,  grew  with  vigor,  and  rapidly  ripened :  and  '  at 
Fehan  Church,  Diocese  of  Derry,'  where  the  Bride's 
father  had  a  country-house,  '  on  Thursday,  5th  April, 
1801,  Hester  Coningham,  only  daughter  of  John  Coning- 
ham, Esquire,  Merchant  in  Derry,  and  of  Elizabeth  Camp- 
bell his  wife,'  was  wedded  to  Captain  Sterling  ;  she  hap- 
piest, to  him  happiest, — as  by  Nature's  kind  law  it  is 
arranged. 

Mrs.  Sterling,  even  in  her  later  days,  had  still  traces  of 
the  old  beauty  ;  then  and  always  she  was  a  woman  of 
delicate,  pious,  affectionate  character  ;  exemplary  as  a  wife, 
a  mother  and  a  friend.  A  refined  female  nature  ;  some- 
thing tremulous  in  it,  timid,  and  with  a  certain  rural  fresh- 


22  JOHN    STERLING. 

ness  still  unweakened  by  long  converse  -with  the  world. 
The  tall  slim  figure  always  of  a  kind  of  quaker  neatness ; 
the  innocent  anxious  face,  anxious  bright  hazle  eyes  ;  the 
timid,  yet  gracefully  cordial  ways,  the  natural  intelligence, 
instinctive  sense  and  worth,  were  very  characteristic.  Her 
voice  too ;  with  its  something  of  soft  querulousness,  easily 
adapting  itself  to  a  light  thin-flowing  style  of  mirth  on 
occasion,  was  characteristic  :  she  had  retained  her  Ulster 
intonations,  and  was  withal  somewhat  copious  in  speech. 
A  fine  tremulously  sensitive  nature,  strong  chiefly  on  the 
side  of  the  affections,  and  the  graceful  insights  and  activi- 
ties that  depend  on  these  : — truly  a  beautiful,  much-suffer- 
ing, much-loving  house-mother.  From  her  chiefly,  as  one 
could  discern,  John  Sterling  had  derived  the  delicate  aroma 
of  his  nature,  its  piety,  clearness,  sincerity ;  as  from  his 
Father,  the  ready  practical  gifts,  the  impetuosities  and  the 
audacities,  were  also  (though  in  strange  new  form)  visibly 
inherited.  A  man  was  lucky  to  have  such  a  Mother ;  to 
have  such  Parents  as  both  his  were.. 

Meanwhile  the  new  Wife  appears  to  have  had,  for  the 
present,  no  marriage-portion  ;  neither  was  Edward  Sterling 
rich, — according  to  his  own  ideas  and  aims,  far  from  it. 
Of  course  he  soon  found  that  the  fluctuating  barrack-life, 
especially  with  no  outlooks  of  speedy  promotion,  was  little 
suited  to  his  new  circumstances  :  but  how  change  it  ?  Ilis 
father  was  now  dead  ;  from  whom  he  had  inherited  the 
Speaker  Pension  of  two  hundred  pounds  ;  but  of  available 
probably  little  or  nothing  more.  The  rents  of  the  small 
family  estate,  I  suppose,  and  other  property,  had  gone  to 
portion  sisters.  Two  hundred  pounds,  and  the  pay  of  a 
marching  Captain :  within  the  limits  of  that  revenue  all 
plans  of  his  had  to  restrict  themselves  at  present. 


BIRTH    AND    PARENTAGE.  23 

He  continued  for  some  time  longer  in  the  Army  ;  his 
wife  undivided  from  him  by  the  hardships  of  that  way  of 
life.  Their  first  son  Anthony  (Captain  Anthony  Sterling, 
the  only  child  who  now  survives)  was  born  to  them  in  this 
position,  while  lying  at  Dundalk,  in  January  1805.  Two 
months  later,  some  eleven  months  after  their  marriage,  the 
regiment  was  broken  ;  and  Captain  Sterling,  declining  to 
serve  elsewhere  on  the  terras  offered,  and  willingly  accept- 
ing such  decision  of  his  doubts,  was  reduced  to  half  pay. 
This  was  the  end  of  his  soldiering  ;  some  five  or  six  years 
in  all ;  from  which  he  had  derived  for  life,  among  other 
things,  a  decided  military  bearing,  whereof  he  was  rather 
proud  ;  an  incapacity  for  practicing  law ; — and  consider- 
able uncertainty  as  to  what  his  next  course  of  life  was  now 
to  be. 

For  the  present,  his  views  lay  towards  farming  :  to  estab- 
lish himself,  if  not  as  country  gentleman,  which  was  an 
unattainable  ambition,  then  at  least  as  some  kind  of  gentle- 
man-farmer which  had  a  flattering  resemblance  to  that. 
Kaimes  Castle  with  a  reasonable  extent  of  land,  which,  in 
his  inquiries  after  farms,  had  turned  up,  was  his  first  place 
of  settlement  in  this  new  capacity  ;  and  here,  for  some  few 
months,  he  had  established  himself  when  John  his  second 
child  was  born.  This  was  Captain  Sterling's  first  attempt 
towards  a  fixed  course  of  life  ;  not  a  very  wise  one,  I  have 
understood : — yet  on  the  whole,  who,  then  and  there,  could 
have  pointed  out  to  him  a  wiser  ? 

A  fixed  course  of  life  and  activity  he  could  never  attain, 
or  not  till  very  late  ;  and  this  doubtless  was  among  the  im- 
portant points  of  his  destiny,  and  acted  both  on  his  own 
character  and  that  of  those  who  had  to  attend  him  on  his 
wayfarings. 


24  JOHN    STERLING. 


CHAPTER    III. 

SCHOOLS :    LLANBLETHIAN  J    PARIS  ;    LONDON. 

Edavard  Sterling  never  shone  in  farming  ;  indeed  I 
believe  he  never  took  heartily  to  it,  or  tried  it  except  in 
j&ts.  Ilis  Bute  farm  was,  at  best,  a  kind  of  apology  for 
some  far  different  ideal  of  a  country  establishment  which 
could  not  be  realized  :  practically  a  temporary  landing- 
place  from  which  he  could  make  sallies  and  excursions  in 
search  of  some  more  generous  field  of  enterprise.  Stormy 
brief  efforts  at  energetic  husbandry,  at  agricultural  improve- 
ment and  rapid  field-labor,  alternated  with  sudden  flights  to 
Dublin,  to  London,  whithersoever  any  flush  of  bright  out- 
look which  he  could  denominate  practical,  or  any  gleam  of 
hope  which  his  impatient  ennui  could  represent  as  such, 
allured  him.  This  latter  was  often  enough  the  case.  In 
wet  hay-times  and  harvest-times,  the  dripping  out-door 
world,  and  lounging  in-door  one,  in  the  absence  of  the 
master,  oftered  far  from  a  satisfactory  appearance  !  Here 
was,  in  fact,  a  man  much  imprisoned  ;  haunted,  I  doubt  not, 
by  demons  enough  ;  though  ever  brisk  and  brave  withal, — 
iracund,  but  cheerfully  vigorous,  opulent  in  wise  or  unwise 
hope.  A  fiery  energetic  soul  consciously  and  unconsciously 
storming  for  deliverance  into  better  arenas ;  and  this  in  a 
restless,  rapid,  impetuous,  rather  than  in  a  strong,  silent 
and  deliberate  way. 

In  rainy  Bute  and  the  dilapidated  Kaimes  Castle,  it  was 


schools:   llanblethian.  25 

evident,  there  lay  no  Goshen  for  such  a  man.  The  lease, 
originally  but  for  some  three  years  and  a  half,  drawing  now 
to  a  close,  he  resolved  to  quit  Bute ;  had  heard,  I  know 
not  where,  of  an  eligible  cottage  without  farm  attached,  in 
the  pleasant  little  village  of  Llanblethian  close  by  Cow- 
bridge  in  Glamorganshire  ;  of  this  he  took  a  lease,  and 
thither  with  his  family  he  moved  in  search  of  new  fortunes. 
Glamorganshire  was  at  least  a  better  climate  than  Bute  ; 
no  groups  of  idle  or  of  busy  reapers  could  here  stand  wait- 
ing on  the  guidance  of  a  master,  for  there  was  no  farm 
here  ; — and  among  its  other  and  probably  its  chief  though 
secret  advantages,  Llanblethian  was  much  more  convenient 
both  for  Dublin  and  London  than  Kaimcs  Castle  had  been. 

The  removal  thither  took  place  in  the  autumn  of  1809. 
Chief  part  of  the  journey  (perhaps  from  Greenock  to 
Swansea  or  Bristol)  was  by  sea :  John,  just  turned  of 
three  years,  could  in  after  times  remember  nothing  of  this 
voyage  ;  Anthony,  some  eighteen  months  older,  has  still  a 
vivid  recollection  of  the  gray  splashing  tumult,  and  dim 
sorrow,  uncertainty,  regret  and  distress  he  underwent :  to 
him  a  '  dissolving  view  '  which  not  only  left  its  eifect  on  the 
plate  (as  all  views  and  dissolving-views  doubtless  do  on  that 
kind  of  '  plate,')  but  remained  consciously  present  there. 
John,  in  the  close  of  his  twenty-first  year  professes  not  to 
remember  any  thing  whatever  of  Bute  ;  his  whole  existence, 
in  that  earliest  scene  of  it,  had  faded  away  from  him  : 
Bute  also,  with  its  shaggy  mountains,  moaning  woods,  and 
summer  and  winter  seas,  had  been  wholly  a  dissolving  view 
for  him,  and  had  left  no  conscious  impression,  but  only,  like 
this  voyage,  an  effect. 

Llanblethian  hangs  pleasantly,  with  its  white  cottages, 
3 


26  JOHN    STERLING.       • 

and  orchard  and  other  trees,  on  the  western  slope  of  a 
green  hill ;  looking  far  and  wide  over  green  meadows  and 
little  or  bigger  hills,  in  the  pleasant  plain  of  Glamorgan  ;  a 
short  mile  to  the  south  of  Cowbridge,  to  which  smart  little 
town  it  is  properly  a  kind  of  suburb.  Plain  of  Glamorgan, 
some  ten  miles  wide  and  thirty  or  forty  long,  which  they 
call  the  Vale  of  Glamorgan ; — though  properly  it  is  not 
quite  a  Vale,  there  being  only  one  range  of  mountains  to  it, 
if  even  one  :  certainly  the  central  Mountains  of  Wales  do 
gradually  rise,  in  a  miscellaneous  manner,  on  the  north  side 
of  it ;  but  on  the  south  are  no  mountains,  not  even  land, 
only  the  Bristol  Channel,  and  far  off,  the  Hills  of  Devon- 
shire, for  boundary, — the  "  English  Hills,"  as  the  natives 
call  them,  visible  from  every  eminence  in  those  parts.  On 
such  wide  terms  is  it  called  Vale  of  Glamorgan.  But  called 
by  whatever  name,  it  is  a  most  pleasant  fruitful  region ; 
kind  to  the  native,  interesting  to  the  visitor.  A  waving 
grassy  region  ;  cut  with  innumerable  ragged  lanes  ;  dotted 
with  sleepy  unswept  human  hamlets,  old  ruinous  castles 
with  their  ivy  and  their  daws,  gray  sleepy  churches  with 
their  ditto  ditto :  for  ivy  everywhere  abounds  ;  and  gener- 
ally a  rank  fragrant  vegetation  clothes  all  things  ;  hanging, 
in  rude  many-colored  festoons  and  fringed  odoriferous  tapes- 
tries, on  your  right  and  on  your  left,  in  every  lane.  A 
country  kinder  to  the  sluggard  husbandman  than  any  I 
have  ever  seen.  For  it  lies  all  on  limestone,  needs  no 
draining ;  the  soil,  everywhere  of  handsome  depth  and 
finest  quality,  will  grow  good  crops  for  you  with  the  most 
i  mperfect  tilling.  At  a  safe  distance  of  a  day's  riding  lie 
the  tartarean  copper-forges  of  Swansea,  the  tartarean  iron- 
forges  of  Merthyr ;  their  sooty  battle  far  away,  and  not,  at 


SCHOOLS  :     LLANBLETIIIAN.  27 

such  safe  distance,  a  defilement  to  the  face  of  the  earth 
and  sky,  but  rather  an  encouragement  to  the  earth  at  least ; 
encouraging  the  husbandman  to  plough  better,  if  he  only 
T\'Ould. 

The  peasantry  seem  indolent  and  stagnant,  but  peaceable 
and  well-provided ;  much  given  to  Methodism  when  they 
have  any  character  ; — for  the  rest  an  innocent  good- 
humored  people,  who  all  drink  home  brewed  beer,  and  have 
brown  loaves  of  the  most  excellent  home  baked  bread. 
The  na;tive  peasant  village  is  not  generally  beautiful,  though 
it  might  be,  were  it  swept  and  trimmed  ;  it  gives  one  rather 
the  idea  of  sluttish  stagnancy, — an  interesting  peep  into 
the  Welsh  Paradise  of  Sleepy  Hollow.  Stones,  old  kettles, 
naves  of  wheels,  all  kinds  of  broken  litter,  with  live  pigs 
and  etceteras,  lie  about  the  street :  for  as  a  rule  no  rubbish 
is  removed,  but  waits  patiently  the  action  of  mere  natural 
chemistry  and  accident ;  if  even  a  house  is  burnt  or  falls, 
you  will  find  it  there  after  half  a  century,  only  cloaked  by 
the  ever-ready  ivy.  Sluggish  man  seems  never  to  have 
struck  a  pick  into  it ;  his  new  hut  is  built  close  by  on 
ground  not  encumbered,  and  the  old  stones  are  still  left 
lying. 

This  is  the  ordinary  Welsh  village  ;  but  there  are  excep- 
tions, where  people  of  more  cultivated  tastes  have  been  led 
to  settle  ;  and  Llanblethian  is  one  of  the  more  signal  of 
these.  A  decidedly  cheerful  group  of  human  homes,  the 
greater  part  of  them  indeed  belonging  to  persons  of  refined 
habits ;  trimness,  shady  shelter,  white-wash,  neither  con- 
veniency  nor  decoration  has  been  neglected  here.  Its 
effect  from  the  distance  on  the  eastward  is  very  pretty  : 
you  see  it  like  a  little  sleeping  cataract  of  white  houses, 


28  JOHN    STERLING. 

■with  trees  overshadowing  and  fringing  it ;  and  there  the 
cataract  hangs,  and  does  not  rush  away  from  you. 

John  Sterling  spent  his  next  five  years  in  this  locality. 
He  did  not  again  see  it  for  a  quarter  of  a  century  ;  but 
retained,  all  his  life,  a  lively  remembrance  of  it ;  and,  just 
in  the  end  of  his  twenty  first  year,  among  his  earliest 
printed  pieces,  we  find  an  elaborate  and  diffuse  description 
of  it  and  its  relations  to  him, — part  of  which  piece,  in  spite 
of  its  otherwise  insignificant  quaUty,  may  find  place  here : 

*  The  fields  on  which  I  first  looked,  and  the  sands  which 
were  marked  by  my  earliest  footsteps,  are  completely  lost 
to  my  memory  ;  and  of  those  ancient  walls  among  which  I 
began  to  breathe,  I  retain  no  recollection  more  clear  than 

the  outlines  of  a  cloud  in  a  moonless  sky.     But  of  L , 

the  village  where  I  afterwards  lived,  I  persuade  myself  that 
every  line  and  hue  is  more  deeply  and  accurately  fixed 
than  those  of  any  spot  I  have  since  beheld,  even  though 
borne  in  upon  the  heart  by  the  association  of  the  strongest 
feelings. 

'  My  home  was  built  upon  the  slope  of  a  hill,  with  a  little 
orchard  stretching  down  before  it,  and  a  garden  rising 
behind.  At  a  considerable  distance  beyond  and  beneath 
the  orchard,  a  rivulet  flowed  through  meadows  and  turned 
a  mill ;  while,  above  the  garden,  the  summit  of  the  hill  was 
crowned  by  a  few  gray  rocks,  from  which  a  yew-tree  grew, 
solitary  and  bare.  Extending  at  each  side  of  the  orchard, 
toward  the  brook,  two  scattered  patches  of  cottages  lay 
nestled  among  their  gardens ;  and  beyond  this  streamlet 
and  the  little  mill  and  bridge,  another  slight  eminence  arose, 
divided  into  green  fields,  tufted  and  bordered  with  copse- 
wood,  and  crested  by  a  ruined  castle,  contemporary,  as  was 


SCHOOLS:    LLANBLETHIAN.  29 

said  with  the  Conquest.  I  know  not  whether  these  things 
in  truth  made  up  a  prospect  of  much  beauty.  Since  I  was 
eight  years  old,  I  have  never  seen  them ;  but  I  well  know 
that  no  landscape  I  have  since  beheld,  no  picture  of  Claude 
or  Salvator,  gave  me  half  the  impression  of  living,  heartfelt, 
perfect  beauty  which  fills  my  mind  when  I  think  of  that 
green  valley,  that  sparkling  rivulet,  that  broken  fortress  of 
dark  antiquity,  and  that  hill  with  its  aged  yew  and  breezy 
summit,  from  which  I  have  so  often  looked  over  the  broad* 
stretch  of  verdure  beneath  it,  and  the  country -town,  and 
church-tower,  silent  and  white  beyond. 

*  In  that  little  town  there  was,  and  I  believe  is,  a  school 
where  the  elements  of  human  knowledge  were  communi- 
cated to  me,  for  some  hours  of  every  day,  during  a  consid- 
erable time.     The  path  to  it  lay  across  the  rivulet  and  past 
the  mill ;  from  which  point  we  could  either  journey  through 
the  fields  below  the  old  castle,  and  the  wood  which  sur- 
rounded it,  or  along  a  road  at  the  other  side  of  the  ruin, 
close  to  the  gateway  of  which  it  passed.     The  former  track 
led  through  two  or  three  beautiful  fields,  the  sylvan  domain 
of  the  keep  on  one  hand,  and  the  brook  on  the  other ; 
while  an  oak  or  two,  like  giant  warders  advanced  from  the 
wood,  broke  the  sunshine  of  the  green  with  a  soft  and 
graceful  shadow.     How  often,  on  my  way  to  school,  have  I 
stopped  beneath  the  tree  to  collect  the  fallen  acorns ;   how 
often  run  down  to  the  stream  to  pluck  a  branch  of  the  haw- 
thorn which  hung  over  the  water  !     The  road  which  passed 
the   castle  joined,   beyond   these   fields,   the   path  which 
traversed   them.     It  took,   I   well   remember,   a   certain 
solemn  and  mysterious  interest  from  the  ruin.    The  shadow 
of  the  archway,  the  discolorisations  of  time  on  all  the  walls? 
3* 


30  '  JOHN    STERLING. 

the  dimness  of  the  little  thicket  which  encircled  it,  the 
traditions  of  its  immeasurable  age,  made  St.  Quentin's 
Castle  a  wonderful  and  awful  fabric  in  the  imagination  of  a 
child  ;  and  long  after  I  last  saw  its  mouldering  roughness, 
I  never  read  of  fortresses,  or  heights,  or  spectres,  or  ban- 
ditti, without  connecting  them  with  the  one  ruin  of  my 
childhood. 

'  It  was  close  to  this  spot  that  one  of  the  few  adventures 
occurred  which  marked,  in  my  mind,  my  boyish  days  with 
importance.  When  loitering  beyond  the  castle,  on  the  way 
to  school,  with  a  brother  somewhat  older  than  myself,  who 
was  uniformly  my  champion  and  protector,  we  espied  a 
round  sloe  high  up  in  the  hedge-row.  We  determined  to 
obtain  it ;  and  I  do  not  remember  whether  both  of  us,  or 
only  my  brother,  climbed  the  tree.  However,  when  the 
prize  was  all  but  reached, — and  no  alchymist  ever  looked 
more  eagerly  for  the  moment  of  projection  which  was  to 
give  him  immortality  and  omnipotence, — a  gruff  voice 
startled  us  with  an  oath,  and  an  order  to  desist ;  and  I  well 
recollect  looking  back,  for  long  after,  with  terror  to  the 
vision  of  an  old  and  ill-tempered  farmer,  armed  with  a  bill- 
hook, and  vowing  our  decapitation  ;  nor  did  I  subsequently 
remember  without  triumph  the  eloquence  whereby  alone,  in 
my  firm  belief,  my  brother  and  myself  had  been  rescued 
from  instant  death. 

'  At  the  entrance  of  the  little  town  stood  an  old  gateway, 
with  a  pointed  arch  and  decaying  battlements.  It  gave 
admittance  to  the  street  which  contained  the  church,  and 
which  terminated  in  another  street,  the  principal  one  in  the 

town  of  C .     In  this  was  situated  the  school  to  which  I 

daily  wended.     I  cannot  now  recall  to  mind  the  face  of  its 


SCHOOLS :    LLANBLETHIAN.  81 

good  conductor,  nor  of  any  of  his  scholars  ;  but  I  have 
before  me  a  strong  general  image  of  the  interior  of  his 
establishment.  I  remember  the  reverence  with  -which  I 
was  wont  to  carry  to  his  seat  a  well-thumbed  duodecimo, 
the  History  of  Greece  by  Oliver  Goldsmith.  I  remember 
the  mental  agonies  I  endured  in  attempting  to  master  the 
art  and  mystery  of  penmanship ;   a  craft  in  which,  alas,  I- 

remained  too  short  a  time  under  Mr.  R to  become  as 

great  a  proficient  as  he  made  his  other  scholars,  and  which 
my  awkwardness  has  prevented  me  from  attaining  in  any 
considerable  perfection  under  my  various  subsequent  peda- 
gogues. But  that  which  has  left  behind  it  a  brilliant  trait 
of  light  was  the  exhibition  of  what  are  called  "  Christmas 
pieces ;"  things  unknown  in  aristocratic  seminaries,  but 
constantly  used  at  the  comparatively  humble  academy  which 
supplied  the  best  knowledge  of  reading,  writing  and  arith- 
metic to  be  attained  in  that  remote  neighborhood. 

'  The  long  desks  covered  from  end  to  end  with  those 
painted  masterpieces,  the  Life  of  Robinson  Crusoe,  the 
Hunting  of  Chevy-Chase,  the  History  of  Jack  the  Giant- 
Killer,  and  all  the  little  eager  faces  and  trembling  hands 
bent  over  these,  and  filling  them  up  with  some  choice  quota- 
tion, sacred  or  profane  ; — no,  the  galleries  of  art,  the  the- 
atrical exhibitions,  the  reviews  and  processions, — which  are 
only  not  childish  because  they  are  practiced  and  admired 
by  men  instead  of  children, — all  the  pomps  and  vanities  of 
great  cities,  have  shown  me  no  revelation  of  glory  such  as 
did  that  crowded  school-room  the  week  before  the  Christ- 
mas holidays.  But  these  were  the  splendors  of  life.  The 
truest  and  the  strongest  feelings  do  not  connect  themselves 


32  '       JOHN    STERLING. 

with  any  scenes  of  gorgeous  and  gaudy  magnificence  ;  tliey 
are  bound  up  in  the  remembrances  of  home. 

'  The  narrow  orchard,  with  its  grove  of  old  apple-trees, 
against  one  of  which  I  used  to  lean,  and  while  I  brandished 
a  beanstalk,  roar  out  with  Fitzjames, 

"  Come  one,  come  all;  this  rock  shall  fly 
From  its  firm  base  as  soon  as  I !" 

while  I  was  ready  to  squall  at  the  sight  of  a  cur,  and  run 
valorously  away  from  a  casually  approaching  cow  ;  the  field 
close  beside  it,  where  I  rolled  about  in  summer  among  the 
hay ;  the  brook  in  which  despite  of  maid  and  mother,  I 
waded  by  the  hour ;  the  garden  where  I  sowed  flower-seeds, 
and  then  turned  up  the  ground  again  and  planted  potatoes, 
and  then  rooted  out  the  potatoes  to  insert  acorns  and  apple- 
pips,  and  at  last,  as  may  be  supposed,  reaped  neither  roses, 
nor  potatoes,  nor  oak-trees,  nor  apples ;  the  grass-plots  on 
which  I  played  among  those  with  whom  I  never  can  play 
nor  work  again :  all  these  are  places  and  employments, — 
and,  alas,  playmates, — such  as,  if  it  were  worth  while  to 
weep  at  all,  it  would  be  worth  weeping  that  I  enjoy  no 

longer. 

'  I  remember  the  house  where  I  first  grew  familiar  with 
peacocks  ;  and  the  mill-stream  into  which  I  once  fell ;  and 
the  religious  awe  wherewith  I  heard,  in  the  warm  twilight, 
the  psalm-singing  around  the  house  of  the  Methodist  miller; 
and  the  door-post  against  which  I  discharged  my  brazen 
artillery  ;  I  remember  the  window  by  which  I  sat  while  my 
mother  taught  me  French  ;  and  the  patch  of  garden  which 

I  dug  for .     But  her  name  is  best  left  blank  ;  it  was 

indeed  writ  in  water.     These  recollections  are  to  me  like 


schools:   llanblethian.  33 

the  wealth  of  a  departed  friend,  a  mournful  treasure.  But 
the  public  has  heard  enough  of  them  ;  to  it  th&y  are  worth- 
less :  they  are  a  coin  which  only  circulates  at  its  true 
value  between  the  different  periods  of  an  individual's  exist- 
ence, and  good  for  nothing  but  to  keep  up  a  commerce 
between  boyhood  and  manhood.     I  have  for  years  looked 

forward  to  the  possibility  of  visiting  L ;  but  I  am  told 

that  it  is  a  changed  village  ;  and  not  only  has  man  been  at 
work,  but  the  old  yew  on  the  hill  has  fallen,  and  scarcely  a 
low  stump  remains  of  the  tree  which  I  delighted  in  child- 
hood to  think  might  have  furnished  bows  for  the  Norman 
archers.'* 

In  Cowbridge  is  some  kind  of  free  school,  or  grammar- 
school,  of  a  certain  distinction  ;  and  this  to  Captain  Sterling 
was  probably  a  motive  for  settling  in  the  neighborhood  of  it 
with  his  children.  Of  this  however,  as  it  turned  out,  there 
was' no  use  made:  the  Sterling  family,  during  its  continu- 
ance in  those  parts,  did  not  need  more  than  a  primary 
school.  The  worthy  master  who  presided  over  these 
Christmas  galas,  and  had  the  honor  to  teach  John  Sterling 
his  reading  and  writing,  was  an  elderly  Mr.  Reece  of  Cow- 
bridge,  who  still  (in  1851)  survives,  or  lately  did  ;  and  is 
still  remembered  by  his  old  pupils  as  a  worthy,  ingenious 
and  kindly  man,  "  who  wore  drab  breeches  and  white 
stockings."  Beyond  the  Reece  sphere  of  tuition  John 
Sterling  did  not  go  in  this  locality. 

In  fact  the  Sterling  household  was  still  fluctuating ;  the 
problem  of  a  task  for  Edward  Sterling's  powers,  and  of 
anchorage  for  his  affairs  in  any  sense,  was  restlessly  strug- 

*  Literary  Chronicle,  New  Series;  London,  Saturday,  21st  June,   1828. 
Art.  11. 


34  JOHN    STERLING. 

gllng  to  solve  itself,  but  was  still  a  good  way  from  being 
solved.  Anthony,  in  revisiting  these  scenes  with  John  in 
1839,  mentions  going  to  the  spot  "  where  we  used  to  stand 
with  our  Father,  looking  out  for  the  arrival  of  the  London 
mail :"  a  little  chink  through  which  is  disclosed  to  us  a  big 
restless  section  of  a  human  life.  The  Hill  of  Welsh  Llanble- 
thian,  then,  is  like  the  mythic  Caucasus  in  its  degree  (as 
indeed  all  hills  and  habitations  where  m'en  sojourn  are)  ; 
and  here  too,  on  a  small  scale,  is  a  Prometheus  Chained  ? 
Edward  Sterling,  I  can  well  understand,  was  a  man  to  tug 
at  the  chains  that  held  him  idle  in  those  the  prime  of  his 
years  ;  and  to  ask  restlessly,  yet  not  in  anger  and  remorse, 
so  much  as  in  hope,  locomotive  speculation,  and  ever-new 
adventure  and  attempt,  Is  there  no  task  nearer  my  own 
natural  size,  then  ?  So  he  looks  out  from  the  Hill-side  '  for 
the  arrival  of  the  London  mail ; '  thence  hurries  into  Cow- 
bridge  to  the  Post-office  ;  and  has  a  wide  web,  of  threads 
and  gossamers,  upon  his  loom,  and  many  shuttles  flying,  in 
this  world. 

By  the  Marquis  of  Bute's  appointment  he  had,  very 
shortly  after  his  arrival  in  that  region,  become  Adjutant  of 
the  Glamorganshire  Militia,  '  Local  Militia '  I  suppose  ; 
and  was,  in  this  way,  turning  his  military  capabilities  to 
some  use.  The  office  involved  pretty  frequent  absences,  in 
Cardiflf  and  elsewhere.  This  doubtless  was  a  welcome 
outlet,  though  a  small  one.  He  had  also  begun  to  try 
writing,  especially  on  public  subjects  ;  a  much  more  copious 
outlet, — which  indeed,  gradually  widening  itself,  became 
the  final  solution  for  him.  Of  the  year  1811  we  have  a 
Pami:)hlet  of  his,  entitled  Military  Reform;  this  is  the 
second  edition,  '  dedicated  to  the  Duke  of  Kent ;'   the  first 


schools:   llanblethian.  35 

appears  to  have  come  out  the  year  before,  and  had  thus 
attained  a  certam  notice,  which  of  course  was  encouraging. 
He  now  furthermore  opened  a  correspondence  with  the 
Times  Newspaper  ;  wrote  to  it,  in  1812,  a  series  of  Letters 
under  the  signature  of  Vetus:  voluntary  Letters  I  suppose, 
without  payment  or  pre-engagement,  one  successful  Letter 
calling  out  another ;  till  Vetus  and  his  doctrines  came  to  be 
a  distinguishable  entity,  and  the  business  amounted  to  some- 
thing. Out  of  my  own  earliest  Newspaper  reading,  I  can 
remember  the  name  Vetus,  as  a  kind  of  editorial  backlog 
on  which  able  editors  were  wont  to  chop  straw  now  and 
then.  Nay  the  Letters  were  collected  and  reprinted  ;  both 
this  first  series,  of  1812,  and  then  a  second  of  next  year : 
two  very  thin,  very  dim-colored  cheap  octavos  ;  stray 
copies  of  which  still  exist,  and  may  one  day  become  distill- 
able  into  a  drop  of  History  (should  such  be  wanted  of  our 
poor  '  Scavenger  Age'  in  time  coming),  'though  the  read- 
ing of  them  has  long  ceased  in  this  generation.*  The  first 
series,  we  perceive,  had  even  gone  to  a  second  edition. 
The  tone,  wherever  one  timidly  glances  into  this  extinct 
cockpit,  is  trenchant  and  emphatic  ;  the  name  of  Vetus, 
strenuously  fighting  there,  had  become  considerable  in  the 
talking  political  world  ;  and,  no  doubt,  was  especially  of 
mark,  as  that  of  a  writer  who  might  otherwise  be  important, 
with  the  proprietors  of  the  Times.  The  connection  con- 
tinued ;  widened  and  deepened  itself, — in  a  slow  tentative 
manner ;  passing  naturally  from  voluntary  into  remuner- 
ated ;  and  indeed  proving  more  and  more  to  be  the  true 

*  '  The  Letters  of  Vetus  from  March  10  to  May  10,  1812'  (second  edition, 
Loudon,  1812) :  Ditto, '  Tart  111.,  with  a  Preface  aud  Notes  '  (ibid.  18U). 


86  JOHN    STERLING. 

ultimate  arena,  and  battlefield  and  seedfield,  for  the  exu- 
berant impetuosities  and  faculties  of  this  man. 

What  the  Letters  of  Vetus  treated  of  I  do  not  know ; 
doubtless  thej  ran  upon  Napoleon,  Catholic  Emancipation, 
true  methods  of  national  defence,  of  effective  foreign  Anti- 
gallicism,  and  of  domestic  ditto ;  which  formed  the  staple 
of  editorial  speculation  at  that  time.  I  have  heard  in  gen- 
eral that  Captain  Sterhng,  then  and  afterwards,  advocated 
'  the  Marquis  of  Wellesley's  policy  ;'  but  that  also,  what  it 
was,  I  have  forgotten,  and  the  world  has  been  willing  to 
forget.  Enough,  the  heads  of  the  Times  establishment, 
perhaps  already  the  Marquis  of  Wellesley  and  other  im- 
portant persons,  had  their  eye  on  this  writer  ;  and  it  began 
to  be  surmised  by  him  that  here  at  last  was  the  career  he 
had  been  seeking. 

Accordingly,  "in  1814,  when  victorious  Peace  unexpect- 
edly arrived,  and  the  gates  of  the  Continent  after  five-and- 
twenty  years  of  fierce  closure  were  suddenly  thrown  open ; 
and,  the  hearts  of  all  English  and  European  men  awoke 
staggering  as  if  from  a  nightmare  suddenly  removed,  and 
ran  hither  and  thither, — Edward  Sterling  also  determined 
on  a  new  adventure,  that  of  crossing  to  Paris,  and  trying 
what  might  lie  in  store  for  him.  For  curiosity,  in  its  idler 
sense,  there  was  evidently  pabulum  enough.  But  he  had 
hopes  moreover  of  learning  much  that  might  perhaps  avail 
him  afterwards  ; — hopes  withal,  I  have  understood,  of 
getting  to  be  Foreign  Correspondent  of  the  Times  News- 
paper, and  so  adding  to  his  income  in  the  meanwhile.  He 
left  Llanblethian  in  May  ;  dates  from  Dieppe  the  27th  of 
that  month.     He  lived  in  occasional  contact  with  Parisian 


schools:   PARIS.  37 

notabilities  (all  of  them  except  Madame  de  Stael  forgotten 
now),  all  summer,  diligently  surveying  his  ground ; — 
returned  for  his  family,  who  were  still  in  Wales  but  ready 
to  move,  in  the  beginning  of  August ;  took  them  immedi- 
ately across  with  him ;  a  house  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Paris,  in  the  pleasant  village  of  Passy  at  once  town  and 
country,  being  now  ready;  and  so,  under  foreign  skies, 
again  set  up  his  household  there. 

Here  was  a  strange  new  '  school '  for  our  friend  John 
now  in  his  eighth  year !  Out  of  which  the  little  Anthony 
and  he  drank  doubtless  at  all  pores,  vigorously  as  they  had 
done  in  no  school  before.  A  change  total  and  immediate. 
Somniferous  green  Llanblethian  has  suddenly  been  blotted 
out ;  presto,  here  are  wakeful  Passy  and  the  noises  of 
paved  Paris  instead.  Innocent  ingenious  Mr.  Reece  in 
drab  breeches  and  white  stockings,  he  with  his  mild  Christ- 
mas galas  and  peaceable  rules  of  Dilworth  and  Butterworth, 
has  given  place  to  such  a  saturnalia  of  pauoramic,  sym- 
bolic, and  other  teachers  and  monitors,  addressing  all  the 
five  senses  at  once.  Who  John's  express  tutors  were,  at 
Passy,  I  never  heard  ;  nor  indeed,  especially  in  his  case, 
was  it  much  worth  inquiring.  To  him  and  to  all  of  us,  the 
expressly  appointed  schoolmasters  and  schoolings  we  get 
are  as  nothing,  compared  with  the  unappointed  incidental 
and  continual  ones,  whose  school-hours  are  all  the  days  and 
nights  of  our  existence,  and  whose  lessons,  noticed  or  unno- 
ticed, stream  in  upon  us  with  every  breath  we  draw. 
Anthony  says  they  attended  a  French  school,  though  only 
for  about  three  months  ;  and  he  well  remembers  the  last 
scene  of  it,  '  the  boys  shouting  Vive  VEmpereur^  when 
Napoleon  came  back.' 
4 


38  JOHN    STERLING. 

Of  John  Sterling's  express  schooling,  perhaps  the  most 
important  feature,  and  by  no  means  a  favorable  one  to  him, 
■was  the  excessive  fluctuation  that  prevailed  in  it.  Change 
of  scene,  change  of  teacher  both  express  and  implied,  was 
incessant  with  him  ;  and  gave  his  young  life  a  nomadic 
character, — which  surely,  of  all  the  adventitious  tendencies 
that  could  have  been  impressed  upon  him,  so  volatile,  swift 
and  airy  a  being  as  him,  was  the  one  he  needed  least.  His 
gentle  pious-hearted  Mother,  ever  watching  over  him  in  all 
outward  changes,  and  assiduously  keeping  human  pieties 
and  good  affections  alive  in  him,  was  probably  the  best 
counteracting  element  in  his  lot.  And  on  the  whole,  have 
we  not  all  to  run  our  chance  in  that  respect ;  and  take,  the 
most  victoriously  we  can,  such  schooling  as  pleases  to  be 
attainable  in  our  year  and  place  ?  Not  very  victoriously, 
the  most  of  us !  A  wise  well-calculated  breeding  of  a 
young  genial  soul  in  this  world,  or  alas  of  any  young  soul 
in  it,  lies  fatally  over  the  horizon  in  these  epochs ! — This 
French  scene  of  things,  a  grand  school  of  its  sort,  and  also 
a  perpetual  banquet  for  the  young  soul,  naturally  captivated 
John  Sterling  ;  he  said  afterwards,  '  New  things  and  expe- 
riences here  were  poured  upon  his  mind  and  sense,  not  in 
streams,  but  in  a  Niagara  cataract.'  This  too,  however, 
was  but  a  scene ;  lasted  only  some  six  or  seven  months  ; 
and  in  the  spring  of  the  next  year,  terminated  as  abruptly 
as  any  of  the  rest  could  do. 

For  in  the  spring  of  the  next  year,  Napoleon  abruptly 
emerged  from  Elba  ;  and  set  all  the  populations  of  the 
world  in  motion,  in  a  strange  manner  ; — set  the  Sterling 
household  afloat,  in  particular ;  the  big  European  tide 
rushing  into  all  smallest  creeks,  at  Passy  and  elsewhere. 


SCHOOLS:     LONDON.  39 

In  brief,  on  the  20th  of  INIarch  1815,  the  family  had  to 
shift,  almost  to  fly,  towards  home  and  the  seacoast ;  and 
for  a  day  or  two,  were  under  apprehension  of  being 
detained  and  not  reaching  home.  Mrs.  Sterling,  with  her 
children  and  eifects,  all  in  one  big  carriage  with  two  horses, 
made  the  journey  to  Dieppe  ;  in  perfect  safety,  though  in 
continual  tremor  :  here  they  were  joined  by  Captain  Ster- 
ling, who  had  staid  behind  at  Paris  to  see  the  actual  advent 
of  Napoleon,  and  to  report  what  the  aspect  of  affairs  was, 
"  Downcast  looks  of  citizens,  with  fierce  saturnalian  acclaim 
of  soldiery:"  after  which  they  proceed  together  to  Lon- 
don without  farther  apprehension  ; — there  to  witness,  in  due 
time,  the  tarbarrels  of  Waterloo,  and  other  phenomena  that 
followed. 

Captain  Sterhng  never  quitted  London  as  a  residence 
any  more  ;  and  indeed  was  never  absent  from  it,  except  on 
autumnal  or  other  excursions  of  a  few  weeks,  till  the  end  of 
his  life.  Nevertheless  his  course  there  was  as  yet  by  no 
means  clear  ;  nor  had  his  relations  with  the  heads  of  the 
Times,  or  with  other  high  heads,  assumed  a  form  which 
could  be  called  definite,  but  were  hanging  as  a  cloudy 
maze  of  possibilities,  firm  substance  not  yet  divided  from 
shadow.  It  continued  so  for  some  years.  The  Sterling 
household  shifted  twice  or  thrice  to  new  streets  or  localities, 
— Russel  Square  or  Queen  Square,  Blackfriars  Road,  and 
longest  at  the  Grove,  Blackheath, — before  the  vapors  of 
Wellesley  promotions  and  such  like  slowly  sank  as  useless 
precipitate,  and  the  firm  rock,  which  was  definite  employ- 
ment, ending  in  lucrative  co-proprietorship  and  more  and 
more  important  connection  with  the  Times  Newspaper, 
slowly  disclosed  itself. 


40  JOHN    STERLING. 

These  changes  of  place  naturally  brought  changes  in 
John  Sterling's  schoolmasters  :  nor  were  domestic  tragedies 
wanting,  still  more  important  to  him.  New  brothers  and 
sisters  had  been  born  ;  two  little  brothers  more,  three  little 
sisters  he  had  in  all ;  some  of  whom  came  to  their  eleventh 
year  beside  him,  some  passed  away  in  their  second  or 
fourth :  but  from  his  ninth  to  his  sixteenth  year  they  all 
died;  and  in  1821  only  Anthony  and  John  were  left.* 
How  many  tears,  and  passionate  pangs,  and  soft  infinite 
regrets  ;  such  as  are  appointed  to  all  mortals !  In  one 
year,  I  find,  indeed  in  one  half-year,  he  lost  three  little 
playmates,  two  of  them  within  one  month.  His  own  age 
was  not  yet  quite  twelve.  For  one  of  these  three,  for  little 
Edward,  his  next  younger,  who  died  now  at  the  age  of 
nine,  Mr.  Hare  records  that  John  copied  out,  in  large 
school  hand,  a  History  of  Valentine  and  Orson,  to  beguile 
the  poor  child's  sickness,  which  ended  in  death  soon, 
leavino;  a  sad  cloud  on  John. 


'JD 


Of  his  grammar  and  other  schools,  which,  as  I  said,  are 
hardly  worth  enumerating  in  comparison,  the  most  important 
seems  to  have  been  a  Dr.  Burney's  at  Greenwich  ;  a  large 
day-school  and  boarding-school,  where  Anthony  and  John 

*  Here  in  a  Note,  is  the  tragic  little  Register,  with  what  indications  for  us 
may  lie  in  it : 

1.  Robert  Sterling  died,  4th  June  1815,  at  Queen  Square,  in  his  fourth  year 

(John  being  now  nine). 

2.  Elizabeth  died,  12th  March  1818,  at  Blackfriars  Road,  in  her  second  year. 

3.  Edward,  30th  March  1S18  (same  place,  same  month  and  year),  in  his 

ninth. 

4.  Hester,  21st  July  1818  (three  months  later),  at  Blackheath,  in  her  eleventh. 

5.  Catherine  Hester  Elizabeth,  16th  January,  1821,  in  Seymour  Street. 


SCHOOLS;    LONDON.  41 

gave  their  attendance  for  a  year  or  two  (1818, — 19)  from 
Blacklieatli.     *  John  frequently  did  themes  for  the  boys,' 
says  Anthony,  '  and  for  myself  when  I  was  aground.'     His 
progress  in  all  school  learning  was  certain  to  be  rapid,  if 
he  even  moderately  took  to  it.     A  lean,  tallish,  loose-made 
boy  of  twelve  ;  strange  alacrity,  rapidity  and  joyous  eager- 
ness looking  out  of  his  eyes,  and  of  all  his  ways  and  move- 
ments.     I  have  a  Picture  of  him  at  this  stage  ;  a  little 
Portrait,  which  carries  its  verification  with  it.     In  manhood 
too,  the  chief  expression  of  his  eyes  and  physiognomy  was 
what  I  might  call  alacrity,  cheerful  rapidity.     You  could 
see,   here  looked  forth  a  soul  which  was  winged  ;  which 
dwelt  in  hope  and  action,  not  in  hesitation  or  fear.     An- 
thony says,  he  was  'an  affectionate  and  gallant  kind  of  boy, 
adventurous  and  generous,  daring  to  a  singular  degree.' 
Apt  enough  withal  to  be  '  petulant  now  and  then  ; '  on  the 
whole,  '  very  self-willed  ; '  doubtless  not  a  little  discursive 
in  his  thoughts  and  ways,  and  '  difficult  to  manage.' 

I  rather  think  Anthony,  as  the  steadier,  more  substantial 
boy,  was  the  Mother's  favorite  ;  and  that  John,  though  the 
quicker  and  cleverer,  perhaps  cost  her  many  anxieties. 
Among  the  Papers  given  me,  is  an  old  browned  half-sheet 
in  stiff  school  hand,  unpunctuated,  occasionally  ill  spelt, — 
John  Sterling's  earliest  remaining  Letter, — which  gives 
record  of  a  crowning  escapade  of  his,  the  first  and  the  last 
of  its  kind ;  and  so  may  be  inserted  here.  A  very  head- 
long adventure  on  the  boy's  part ;  so  hasty  and  so  futile, 
at  once  audacious  and  impracticable  ;  emblematic  of  much 

that  befell  in  the  history  of  the  man  ! 
4* 


42  JOHN    STERLING. 

'  To  Mrs.  Sterling,  Blachheatlu 

September  21st,  1818. 

'  Dear  Mamma,— I  am  now  at  Dover,  where  I  arrived 
this  morning  about  seven  o'clock.     When  you  thought  I 
was  going  to  church,  I  went  down  the  Kent  Road,  and 
walked  on  tilll  I  came  to  Gravesend,  which  is  upwards  of 
twenty  miles  from  Blackheath ;  at  about  seven  o'clock  in 
the  evening,  without  having  eat  any  thing  the  whole  time. 
I  applied  to  an  innkeeper  (^sic)  there,  pretending  that  I 
had  served   a  haberdasher  in  London,  who  left  of  (^sic) 
business,  and  turned  me  away.     He  believed  me  ;  and  got 
me  a  passage  in  the  coach  here,  for  I  said  that  I  had  an 
Uncle  here,  and  that  my  Father  and  Mother  were  dead ; — 
when  I  wandered  about  the  quays  for  some  time,  till  I  met 
Captain  Keys,  whom  I  asked  to  give  me   a  passage  to 
Boulogne ;  which  he  promised  to  do,  and  took  me  home  to 
breakfast  with  him  :  but  Mrs.  Keys  questioned  me  a  good 
deal ;  when  I  not  being  able  to  make  my  story  good,  I  was 
obliged  to  confess  to  her  that  I  had  run  away  from  you. 
Captain  Keys  says  that  he  will  keep  me  at  his  house  till 
you  answer  my  letter.  J.  Sterling.' 

Anthony  remembers  the  business  well ;  but  can  assign 
no  origin  to  it, — some  peiialty,  indignity  or  cross  put  sud- 
denly on  John,  which  the  hasty  John  considered  unbear- 
able. His  Mother's  inconsolable  weeping,  and  then  his 
own  astonishment  at  such  a  culprit's  being  forgiven,  are  all 
that  remains  with  Anthony.  The  steady  historical  style  of 
the  young  runaway  of  twelve,  narrating  merely,  not  in  the 
least  apologising,  is  also  noticeable. 


SCHOOLS :    LONDON.  43 

This  was  some  six  months  after  his  little  brother  Ed- 
ward's death ;  three  months  after  that  of  Hester,  his  little 
sister  next  in  the  family  series  to  him :  troubled  days  for 
the  poor  Mother  in  that  small  household  on  Blackheath,  as 
there  are  for  Mothers  in  so  many  households  in  this  world  ! 
I  have  heard  that  Mrs.  Sterling  passed  much  of  her  time 
alone,  at  this  period.  Her  husband's  pursuits,  with  his 
Wellesleys  and  the  like,  often  carrying  him  into  Town  and 
detaining  him  late  there,  she  would  sit  among  her  sleeping 
children,  such  of  them  as  death  had  still  spared,  perhaps 
thriftily  plying  her  needle,  full  of  mournful  aifectionate 
night-thoughts, — apprehensive  too,  in  her  tremulous  heart, 
that  the  head  of  the  house  might  have  fallen  among  robbers 
in  his  way  homeward. 

'-; 


44  JOHN    STERLING. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

UNIVERSITIES  :    GLASGOW  ;    CAMBRIDGE. 

At  a  later  stage,  John  had  some  mstruction  from  a  Dr. 
Waite  at  Blackheath ;  and  lastly,  the  family  having  now 
removed  into  Town,  to  Seymour  Street  in  the  fashionable 
region  there,  he  '  read  for  a  while  with  Dr.  Trollope, 
Master  of  Christ's  Hospital ; '  which  ended  his  school 
history. 

In  this  his  ever-changing  course,  from  Reece  at  Cow- 
bridge  to  Trollope  in  Christ's,  which  was  passed  so  nomadi- 
cally,  under  ferulas  of  various  color,  the  boy  had,  on  the 
whole,  snatched  successfully  a  fair  share  of  what  was 
going.  Competent  skill  in  construing  Latin,  I  think  also 
an  elementary  knowledge  of  Greek ;  add  ciphering  to  a 
small  extent,  Euclid  perhaps  in  a  rather  imaginary  condi- 
tion ;  a  swift  but  not  very  legible  or  handsome  penman- 
ship, and  the  copious  prompt  habit  of  employing  it  in  all 
manner  of  unconscious  English  prose  composition,  or  even 
occasionally  in  verse  itself :  this,  or  something  like  this,  he 
had  gained  from  his  grammar-schools  ;  this  is  the  most  of 
what  they  offer  to  the  poor  young  soul  in  general,  in  these 
indigent  times.  The  express  schoolmaster  is  not  equal  to 
much  at  present, — while  the  w?zexpress,  for  good  or  for 
evil,  is  so  busy  with  a  poor  little  fellow !  Other  depart- 
ments of  schooling  had  been  infinitely  more  productive,  for 


UNIVERSITIES  :     GLASGOW.  45 

our  joung  friend,  than  tlie  gerundgrinding  one.  A  vora- 
cious reader  I  believe  he  all  along  was ; — had  '  read  the 
whole  Edinburgh  Review '  in  these  boyish  years,  and  out 
of  the  circulating  libraries  one  knows  not  what  cartloads  ; 
wading  like  Ulysses  towards  his  palace  '  through  infinite 
dung.'  A  voracious  observer  and  participator  in  all  things 
he  likewise  all  along  was  ;  and  had  had  his  sights,  and 
reflections,  and  sorrows  and  adventures,  from  Kaimes  Cas- 
tle onward, — and  had  gone  at  least  to  Dover  on  his  own 
score.  Puer  honce  sjjei,  as  the  school-albums  say  ;  a  boy 
of  whom  much  may  be  hoped  ?  Surely,  in  many  senses, 
yes.  A  frank  veracity  is  in  him,  truth  and  courage,  as 
the  basis  of  all ;  and  of  wild  gifts  and  graces  there  is 
abundance.  I  figure  him  a  brilliant,  swift,  voluble,  affec- 
tionate and  pleasant  creature  ;  out  of  Avhom,  if  it  were  not 
that  symptoms  of  delicate  health  already  shew  themselves, 
great  things  might  be  made.  Promotions  at  least,  espe- 
cially in  this  country  and  epoch  of  parliaments  and  eloquent 
palavers,  are  surely  very  possible  far  such  a  one  ! 

Being  now  turned  of  sixteen,  and  the  family  economics 
getting  yearly  more  propitious  and  flourishing,  he,  as  his 
brother  had  already  been,  was  sent  to  Glasgow  University, 
in  which  city  their  Mother  had  connections.  His  brother 
and  he  were  now  all  that  remained  of  the  young  family  ; 
much  attached  to  one  another  in  their  College  years  as 
afterwards.  Glasgow  however  was  not  properly  their  Col- 
lege scene  :  here,  except  that  they  had  some  tuition  from 
Mr.  Jacobson,  then  a  senior  fellow  student,  now  (1851) 
the  learned  editor  of  St.  Basil,  and  Regius  Professor  of 
Divinity  in  Oxford,  who  continued  ever  afterwards  a  valued 


46  JOIIISr    STERLING. 

intimate  of  Jolm's,  I  find  nothing  special  recorded  of  them. 
The  Glasgo\y  curriculum,  for  John  especially,  lasted  but 
one  year ;  who,  after  some  further  tutorage  from  Mr.  Ja- 
cobson  or  Dr.  Trollope,  was  appointed  for  a  more  ambitious 
sphere  of  education. 

In  the  beginning  of  his  nineteenth  year, '  in  the  autumn 
of  1824,'  he  went  to  Trinity  College,  Cambridge.  His 
brother  Anthony,  who  had  already  been  there  a  year,  had 
just  quitted  this  Establishment,  and  entered  on  a  military 
life  under  good  omens ;  I  think,  at  Dublin  under  the  Lord 
Lieutenant's  patronage,  to  whose  service  he  was,  in  some 
capacity,  attached.  The  two  brothers,  ever  in  company 
hitherto,  parted  roads  at  this  point ;  and,  except  on  holiday 
visits  and  by  frequent  correspondence,  did  not  again  live 
together  ;  but  they  continued  in  a  true  fraternal  attach- 
ment while  life  lasted,  and  I  believe  never  had  any  even 
temporary  estrangement,  or  on  either  side  a  cause  for  such. 
The  family,  as  I  said,  was  now,  for  the  last  three  years, 
reduced  to  these  two ;  the  rest  of  the  young  ones,  wi_th 
their  laughter  and  their  soitows,  all  gone.  The  parents 
otherwise  were  prosperous  in  outward  circumstances  ;  the 
Father's  position  more  and  more  developing  itself  into 
affluent  security,  an  agreeable  circle  of  acquaintance,  and 
a  certain  real  influence,  though  of  a  peculiar  sort,  accord- 
ing to  his  gifts  for  w^ork  in  this  world. 

Sterling's  Tutor  at  Trinity  College  was  Julius  Hare, 
now  the  distinguished  Archdeacon  of  Lewes ; — who  soon 
conceived  a  great  esteem  for  him,  and  continued  ever  after- 
wards, in  looser  or  closer  connection,  his  loved  and  loving 
friend.     As  the  Biographical  and   Editorial  work   above 


UNIVERSITIES  :     CAMBllIDGE.  47 

alluded  to  abundantly  evinces.  Mr.  Hare  celebrates  the 
•wonderful  and  beautiful  gifts,  the  sjjarkling  ingenuity, 
ready  logic,  eloquent. utterance,  and  noble  generosities  and 
pieties  of  his  pupil ; — records  in  particular  how  once,  on  a 
sudden  alarm  of  fire  in  some  neighboring  College  edifice 
while  his  lecture  was  proceeding,  all  hands  rushed  out  to 
help  ;  how  the  undergraduates  instantly  formed  themselves 
in  lines  from  the  fire  to  the  river,  and  in  swift  continuance 
kept  passing  buckets  as  was  needful,  till  the  enemy  was 
visibly  fast  yielding, — when  Mr.  Hare,  going  along  the 
line,  was  astonished  to  find  Sterling  at  the  river  end  of  it, 
standing  up  to  his  waist  in  water,  deftly  dealing  with  the 
buckets  as  they  came  and  went.  You  in  the  river,  Ster- 
ling ;  you  Avith  your  coughs,  and  dangerous  tendencies  of 
health!  "  Somebody  must  be  in  it,"  answered  Sterling: 
"  why  not  I,  as  well  as  another  ?  "  Sterling's  friends  may 
remember  many  traits  of  that  kind.  The  swiftest  in  all 
things,  he  was  apt  to  be  found  at  the  head  of  the  column, 
whithersoever  the  march  might  be  :  if  towards  any  brunt  of 
danger,  there  was  he  surest  to  be  at  the  head ;  and  of  him- 
self and  his  peculiar  risks  or  impediments  he  was  negligent 
at  all  times,  even  to  an  excessive  and  plainly  unreasonable 
degree. 

Mr.  Hare  justly  refuses  him  the  character  of  an  exact 
scholar,  or  technical  proficient  at  any  time  in  either  of  the 
ancient  literatures.  But  he  freely  read  in  Greek  and 
Latin,  as  in  various  modern  languages  ;  and  in  all  fields,  in 
the  classical  as  well,  his  lively  faculty  of  recognition  and 
assimilation  had  given  him  large  booty  in  proportion  to  his 
labor.  One  cannot  under  any  circumstances  conceive  of 
Sterling  as  a  steady  dictionary   philulogue,  historian,  or 


48  JOHN    STERLING. 

archseologist :  nor  did  he  here,  nor  could  he  well,  attempt 
that  course.  At  the  same  time,  Greek  and  the  Greeks 
being  here  before  him,  he  could  not  fail  to  gather  somewhat 
from  it,  to  take  some  hue  and  shape  from  it.  Accordingly 
there  is,  to  a  singular  extent,  especially  in  his  early  writ- 
ings, a  certain  tinge  of  Grecism  and  Heathen  Classicality 
traceable  in  him  ; — Classicality,  indeed,  which  does  not 
satisfy  one's  sense  as  real  or  truly  living,  but  which  glitters 
with  a  certain  genial,  if  perhaps  almost  meretricious  half- 
jcqmnnish  splendor,  greatly  distinguishable  from  mere 
gerundgrinding,  and  death  in  longs  and  shorts.  If  Classi- 
cality mean  the  practical  conception,  or  attempt  to  con- 
ceive, what  human  life  was  in  the  epoch  called  classical, — 
perhaps  few  or  none  of  Sterling's  contemporaries  in  that 
Cambridge  establishment  carried  away  more  of  available 
Classicality  than  even  he. 

But  here,  as  in  his  former  schools,  his  studies  and  inqui- 
ries, diligently  prosecuted  I  believe,  were  of  the  most  dis- 
cursive wide-flowing  character ;  not  steadily  advancing 
along  beaten  roads  towards  College  honors,  but  pulsing  out 
with  impetuous  irregularity  now  on  this  tract,  now  on  that, 
towards  whatever  spiritual  Delphi  might  promise  to  unfold 
the  mystery  of  this  world,  and  announce  to  him  what  was, 
in  our  new  day,  the  authentic  message  of  the  gods.  His 
speculations,  readings,  inferences,  glances  and  conclu- 
sions were  doubtless  sufficiently  encyclopedic  ;  his  grand 
tutors  the  multifarious  set  of  Books  he  devoured.  And 
perhaps, — as  is  the  singular  case  in  most  schools  and  edu- 
qational  establishments  of  this  unexampled  epoch, — it  was 
not  the  express  set  of  arrangements  in  this  or  any  extant 
University  that  could  essentially  forward  him,  but  only  the 


UNIVERSITIES  :     CAMBRIDGE.  49 

implied  and  silent  ones  :  less  in  the  prescribed  '  course  of 
study,'  "SN'ticli  seems  to  tend  nowhither,  than, — if  jou  will 
consider  it, — in  the  generous  (not  ungenerous)  rebellion 
against  said  prescribed  course,  and  the  voluntary  spirit  of 
endeavor  and  adventure  excited  thereby,  does  help  lie  for 
a  brave  youth  in  such  places.  Curious  to  consider.  The 
fagging,  the  illicit  boating,  and  the  ihmgs  forbidden  by  the 
schoolmaster,  these,  I  often  notice  in  my  Eton  acquaint- 
ances, are  the  things  that  have  done  them  good  ;  these, 
and  not  their  inconsiderable  or  considerable  knowledge  of 
the  Greek  accidence  almost  at  all !  ^What  is  Greek  acci- 
dence, compared  to  Spartan  discipline,  if  it  can  be  had  ? 
That  latter  is  a  real  and  grand  attainment.  Certainly,  if 
rebellion  is  unfortunately  needful,  and  you  can  rebel  in  a 
generous  manner,  several  things  may  be  acquired  in  that 
operation, — rigorous  mutual  fidelity,  reticence,  stedfastness, 
mild  stoicism,  and  other  virtues  far  transcending  your 
Greek  accidence.  Nor  can  the  unwisest  '  prescribed 
course  of  study '  be  considered  quite  useless,  if  it  have 
incited  you  to  try  nobly  on  all  sides  for  a  course  of  your 
ov?n.  A  singular  condition  of  Schools  and  High-schools, 
^N'hich  have  come  down,  in  their  strange  old  clothes  and 
'  courses  of  study,'  from  the  monkish  ages  into  this  highly 
unmonkish  one ; — tragical  condition,  at  which  the  intelli- 
gent observer  makes  deep  pause  ! 

One  benefit,  not  to  be  dissevered  from  the  most  obsolete 
University  still  frequented  by  young  ingenuous  living  souls, 
is  that  of  manifold  colhsion  and  communication  with  the 
said  young  souls  ;  wluch,  to  every  one  of  these  coevals,  is 
undoubtedly  the  most  important  branch  of  breeding  for 
5 


50  JOUN     STERLING. 

him,  la  this  point,  as  the  learned  Huber  has  insisted,* 
the  two  English  Universities, — their  studies  otherwise  being 
granted  to  be  nearly  useless,  and  even  ill  done  of  their 
kind, — far  excel  all  other  Universities  :  so  valuable  are  the 
rules  of  human  behavior  which  from  of  old  have  tacitly 
established  themselves  there  ;  so  manful,  with  all  its  sad 
drawbacks,  is  the  style  of  English  character,  '  frank,  sim- 
ple, rugged  and  yet  courteous,'  which  has  tacitly  but 
imperatively  got  itself  sanctioned  and  prescribed  there. 
Such,  in  full  sight  of  Continental  and  other  Universities,  is 
Huber's  opinion.  Alas,  the  question  of  University  Reform 
goes  deep  at  present ;  deep  as  the  world ; — and  the  real 
University  of  these  new  epochs  is  yet  a  great  way  from  us ! 
Another  judge  in  whom  I  have  confidence  declares  further, 
That,  of  these  two  Universities,  Cambridge  is  decidedly  the 
more  Catholic  (not  Eoman  Catholic,  but  Human  Catholic) 
in  its  tendencies  and  habitudes  ;  and  that  in  fact,  of  all  the 
miserable  Schools  and  High-schools  in  the  England  of  these 
years,  he,  if  reduced  to  choose  from  them,  would  choose 
Cambridge  as  a  place  of  culture  for  the  young  idea.  So 
that,  in  these  bad  circumstances.  Sterling  had  perhaps 
rather  made  a  hit  than  otherwise  ? 

Sterling  at  Cambridge  had  undoubtedly  a  wide  and 
rather  genial  circle  of  comrades  ;  and  could  not  fail  to  be 
regarded  and  beloved  by  many  of  them.  Their  life  seems 
to  have  been  an  ardently  speculating  and  talking  one  ;  by 
no  means  excessively  restrained  within  limits  ;  and,  in  the 
more  adventurous  heads  like  Sterling's,  decidedly  tending 

*  History  of  the  English  Universities.     (Translated  from  the  German). 


UNIVERSITIES  :     CAMBRIDGE.  51 

towards  the  latitudinarian  in  most  things.  They  had  among 
them  a  Debating  Society  called  The  Union ;  where  on 
stated  evenings  was  much  logic,  and  other  spiritual  fencing 
and  ingenuous  collision, — probably  of  a  really  superior 
quality  in  that  kind  ;  for  not  a  few  of  the  then  disputants 
have  since  proved  themselves  men  of  parts,  and  attained 
distinction  in  the  intellectual  walks  of  life.  Frederic  Mau- 
rice, Richard  Trench,  John  Kemble,  Spedding,  Venables, 
Charles  Buller,  Richard  Milnes  and  others : — I  have  heard 
that  in  speaking  and  arguing,  Sterling  was  the  acknowl- 
edged chief  in  this  Union  Club  ;  and  that  '  none  even  came 
near  him,  except  the  late  Charles  Buller,'  whose  distinction 
in  this  and  higher  respects  was  also  already  notable. 

The  questions  agitated  seem  occasionally  to  have  touched 
on  the  political  department,  and  even  on  the  ecclesiastical. 
I  have  heard  one  trait  of  Sterling's  eloquence,  which  sur- 
vived on  the  wings  of  grinning  rumor,  and  had  evidently 
borne  upon  Church  Conservatism  in  some  form ;  "  Have 
they  not," — or  perhaps  it  was.  Has  she  (the  Church) 
not, — "  a  black  dragoon  in  every  parish,  on  good  pay  and 
rations,  horse-meat  and  man's-meat,  to  patrol  and  battle  for 
these  things  ?  "  The  '  black  dragoon,'  which  naturally  at 
the  moment  ruffled  the  general  young  imagination  into 
stormy  laughter,  points  towards  important  conclusions  in 
respect  to  Sterling  at  this  time.  I  conclude  he  had,  with 
bis  usual  alacrity  and  impetuous  daring,  frankly  adopted 
the  anti-superstitious  side  of  things  ;  and  stood  scornfully 
prepared  to  repel  all  aggressions  or  pretensions  from  the 
opposite  quarter.  In  short,  that  he  was  already,  what 
afterwards  there  is  no  doubt  about  his  being,  at  all  points  a 
Radical,  as  the  name  or  nickname  then  went.     In  other 


52  JOHN    STERLING. 

words,  a  young  ardent  soul  looking  with  hope  and  joy  into 
a  world  which  was  infinitely  beautiful  to  him,  though  over- 
hung with  falsities  and  foul  cobwebs  as  world  never  was 
before ;  overloaded,  overclouded,  to  the  zenith  and  the 
nadir  of  it,  by  incredible  uncredited  traditions,  solemnly 
sordid  hypocrisies,  and  beggarly  deliriums  old  and  new ; 
which  latter  class  of  objects  it  was  clearly  the  part  of  every 
noble  heart  to  expend  all  its  lightnings  and  energies  in 
burning  up  without  delay,  and  sweeping  into  their  native 
Chaos  out  of  such  a  Cosmos  as  this.  Which  process,  it  did 
not  then  seem  to  him  could  be  very  difficult  ;  or  attended 
Avith  much  other  than  heroic  joy,  and  enthusiasm  of  victory 
or  of  battle,  to  the  gallant  operator,  in  his  part  of  it.  This 
was,  with  modifications  such  as  might  be,  the  humor  and 
creed  of  College  Radicalism  five  and-twenty  years  ago. 
Eather  horrible  at  that  time  ;  seen  to  be  not  so  horrible 
now,  at' least  to  have  grown  very  universal,  and  to  need  no 
concealment  now.  The  natural  humor  and  attitude,  we 
may  well  regret  to  say, — and  honorable  not  dishonorable, 
for  a  brave  young  soul  such  as  Sterling's,  in  those  years  in 
those  localities  ! 

I  do  not  find  that  Sterling  had,  at  that  stage,  adopted 
the  then  prevalent  Utilitarian  theory  of  human  things. 
But  neither,  apparently,  had  he  rejected  it ;  still  less  did 
he  yet  at  all  denounce  it  with  the  damnatory  vehemence 
we  were  used  to  in  him  at  a  later  period.  Probably  he, 
so  much  occupied  with  the  negative  side  of  things,  had  not 
yet  thought  seriously  of  any  positive  basis  for  his  world  ;  or 
asked  himself,  too  earnestly,  What  then  is  the  noble  rule  of 
living  for  a  man  ?  In  this  world  so  eclipsed  and  scandal 
ously    overhung   with    fable    and    hypocrisy,    what  is  the 


UNIVERSITIES :     CAMBRIDGE.  53 

eternal  fact,  on  which  a  man  may  front  the  Destinies  and 
the  Immensities  ?  The  day  for  such  questions,  sure  enough 
to  come  in  his  case,  was  still  but  coming.  Sufficient  for 
this  day  be  the  work  thereof ;  that  of  blasting  into  merited 
annihilation  the  innumerable  and  immeasurable  recognized 
deliriums,  and  extirpating  or  coercing  to  the  due  pitch 
those  legions  of  '  black  dragoons,'  of  all  varieties  and  pur- 
poses, who  patrol,  with  horse-meat  and  man's-meat,  this 
afflicted  earth,  so  hugely  to  the  detriment  of  it. 

Sterling,  it  appears,  after  above  a  year  of  Trinity  Col- 
lege, followed  his  friend  Maurice  into  Trinity  Hall,  with 
the  intention  of  taking  a  degree  in  Law  ;  which  intention, 
like  many  others  with  him,  came  to  nothing  ;  and  in  1827 
he  left  Trinity  Hall  and  Cambridge  altogether  ;  here  end- 
ing, after  two  years,  his  brief  University  life. 


5# 


54  JOHN    STERLING. 


CHAPTER    V. 

A   PROFESSION. 

Here  then  is  a  young  soul,  brought  to  the  years  of  legal 
majority,  furnished  from  his  training-schools  with  such  and 
such  shining  capabilities,  and  ushered  on  the  scene  of 
things,  to  inquire  practically.  What  he  will  do  there  ? 
Piety  is  in  the  man,  noble  human  valor,  bright  intelligence, 
ardent  proud  veracity  ;  light  and  fire,  in  none  of  their 
many  senses,  wanting  for  him,  but  abundantly  bestowed  :  a 
kingly  kind  of  man  ; — whose  '  kingdom,'  however,  in  this 
bewildered  place  and  epoch  of  the  world  will  probably  be 
difficult  to  find  and  conquer  ! 

For,  alas,  the  world,  as  we  said,  already  stands  convicted 
to  this  young  soul  of  being  an  untrue,  unblessed  world ;  its 
high  dignitaries  many  of  them  phantasms  and  players'- 
masks  ;  its  worthships  and  worships  unworshipful :  from 
Dan  to  Beersheba,  a  mad  world,  my  masters.  And  surely 
we  may  say,  and  none  will  now  gainsay,  this  his  idea  of 
the  world  at  that  epoch  was  nearer  to  the  fact  than  at 
most  other  epochs  it  has  been.  Truly,  in  all  times  and 
places,  the  young  ardent  soul  that  enters  on  this  world  with 
heroic  purpose,  with  veracious  insight,  and  the  yet  uncloud- 
ed '  inspiration  of  the  Almighty '  which  has  given  us  our 
intelligence,  will  find  this  world  a  very  mad  one  :  why  else 
is  he,  with  his  little   outfit  of  heroisms  and   inspirations, 


A    PROFESSION.  65 

come  hither  into  it,  except  to  make  it  diligently  a  little 
saner  ?  Of  him  there  would  have  been  no  need,  had  it 
been  quite  sane.  This  is  true  ;  this  will,  in  all  centuries 
and  countries,  be  true. 

And  yet  perhaps  of  no  time  or  country,  for  the  last  two 
thousand  years,  was  it  so  true  as  here  in  this  waste-welter- 
ing epoch  of  Sterling's  and  ours.  A  Avorld  all  rocking  and 
plunging,  like  that  old  Roman  one  when  the  measure  of  its 
iniquities  was  full ;  the  abysses,  and  subterranean  and 
supernal  deluges,  plainly  broken  loose  ;  in  the  wild  dim- 
lighted  chaos  all  stars  of  Heaven  gone  out.  No  star  of 
Heaven  visible,  hardly  now  to  any  man  ;  the  pestiferous 
fogs,  and  foul  exhalations  grown  continual,  have,  except  on 
the  highest  mountain-tops,  blotted  out  all  stars  :  will-o'- 
wisps,  of  various  course  and  color,  take  the  place  of  stars. 
Over  the  wild-surging  chaos,  in  the  leaden  air,  are  only 
sudden  glares  of  revolutionary  lightning ;  then  mere  dark- 
ness, Avith  philanthropistic  phosphorescences,  empty  meteoric 
lights ;  here  and  there  an  ecclesiastical  luminary  still  hov- 
ering, hanging  on  to  its  old  quaking  fixtures,  pretending 
still  to  be  a  Moon  or  Sun, — though  visibly  it  is  but  a 
Chinese  Lantern  made  of  jjajyer  mainly,  with  candle-end 
foully  dying  in  the  heart  of  it.  Surely  as  mad  a  world  as 
you  could  wish ! 

If  you  want  to  make  sudden  fortunes  in  it,  and  achieve 
the  temporary  hallelujah  of  flunkeys  for  yourself,  renounc- 
ing the  perennial  esteem  of  wise  men  ;  if  you  can  believe 
that  the  chief  end  of  man  is  to  collect  about  him  a  bigger 
heap  of  gold  than  ever  before,  in  a  shorter  time  than  ever 
before,  you  will  find  it  a  most  handy  and  every  way 
furthersome,  blessed   and  felicitous  world.     But   for   any 


56  JOHN     STERLING. 

other  human  aim,  I  think  you  will  find  it  not  furthersome. 
If  you  in  any  way  ask  practically,  How  a  noble  life  is  to 
be  led  in  it  ?  you  will  be  luckier  than  Sterling  or  I  if  you 
get  any  credible  answer,  or  find  any  made  road  whatever. 
Alas,  it  is  even  so.  Your  heart's  question,  if  it  be  of  that 
sort,  most  things  and  persons  will  answer  with  a  :  "  Non- 
sense !  Noble  life  is  in  Drury-Lane,  and  wears  yellow 
boots.  You  fool,  compose  yourself  to  your  pudding  !  " — 
Surely,  in  these  times,  if  ever  in  a.iy,  the  young  heroic  soul 
entering  on  life,  so  opulent,  fall  of  sunny  hope,  of  noble 
valor  and  divine  intention,  is  tra^fical  as  well  as  beautiful 
to  us. 

Of  the  three  learned  Professions  none  offered  any  likeli- 
hood for  Sterling.  From  the  Church  his  notions  of  the 
'  black  dragoon,'  had  there  been  no  other  obstacle,  were 
sufficient  to  exclude  him.  Law  he  had  just  renounced,  his 
own  Radical  philosophies  disheartening  him,  in  face  of  the 
ponderous  impediments,  continual  uphill  struggles  and  for- 
midable toils  inherent  in  such  a  pursuit ;  Avith  Medicine  he 
had  never  been  in  any  contiguity,  that  he  should  dream  of 
it  as  a  course  for  him.  Clearly  enough  the  professions  were 
unsuitable  ;  they  to  him,  he  to  them.  Professions,  built  so 
largely  on  speciosity  instead  of  performance  ;  clogged,  in 
this  bad  epoch,  and  defaced  under  such  suspicions  of  fatal 
imposture,  were  hateful  not  lovable  to  the  young  radical 
soul,  scornful  of  gross  profit,  and  intent  on  ideals  and  human 
noblenesses.  Again,  the  professions,  were  they  never  so 
perfect  and  veracious,  will  require  slow  steady  pulling,  to 
which  this  individual  young  radical,  with  his  swift  far-dart- 
ing brilliancies,  and  nomadic  desultory  ways,  is  of  all  men 


A    PROFESSION.  67 

the  most  averse  and  unfitted.  No  profession  could,  in  any 
case,  have  well  gained  the  early  love  of  Sterling.  And 
perhaps  withal  the  most  tragic  element  of  his  life  is  even 
this,  That  there  now  was  none  to  which  he  could  fitlj'-,  by 
those  wiser  than  himself,  have  been  bound  and  constrained, 
that  he  might  learn  to  love  it.  So  s\Yift,  light-limbed  and 
fiery  an  Arab  courser  ought,  for  all  manner  of  reasons,  to 
have  been  trained  to  saddle  and  harness.  Roaming  at  full 
gallop  over  the  heaths, — especially  when  your  heath  was 
London,  and  English  and  European  life,  in  the  nineteenth 
century, — he  suffered  much,  and  did  comparatively  little. 
I  have  known  few  creatures  whom  it  was  more  wasteful  to 
send  forth  with  the  bridle  thrown  up,  and  set  to  steeple- 
hunting  instead  of  running  on  highways !  But  it  is  the  lot 
of  many  such,  in  this  dislocated  time, — Heaven  mend  it ! 
In  a  better  time  there  will  be  other  '  professions  '  than  those 
three  extremely  cramp,  confused  and  indeed  almost  obsolete 
ones  :  professions,  if  possible,  that  are  true,  and  do  not 
require  you  at  the  threshold  to  constitute  yourself  an  im- 
postor. Human  association, — which  will  mean  discipline, 
vigorous  wise  subordination  and  co-ordination, — is  so  un- 
speakably important.  Professions,  '  regimented  human 
pursuits,'  how  many  of  honorable  and  manful  might  be 
possible  for  men ;  and  which  should  not,  in  their  results  to 
society,  need  to  stumble  along,  in  such  an  unwieldy  futile 
manner,  with  legs  swollen  into  such  enormous  elephantiasis 
and  no  go  at  all  in  them  !  Men  will  one  day  think  of  the 
force  they  squander  in  every  generation,  and  the  fatal 
damage  they  encounter,  by  this  neglect. 

The  career  likeliest  for  Sterling,  in  his  and  the  world's 


58  JOHN    STERLING. 

circumstances,  -woulcl  have  been  what  is  called  public  life  : 
some  secretarial,  diplomatic  or  other  official  training,  to 
issue  if  possible  in  Parliament  as  the  true  field  for  him. 
And  here,  beyond  question,  had  the  gross  material  condi- 
tions been  allowed,  his  spiritual  capabilities  were  first-rate. 
In  any  arena  where  eloquence  and  argument  was  the 
point,  this  man  was  calculated  to  have  borne  the  bell  from 
all  competitors.  In  lucid  ingenious  talk  and  logic,  in  all 
manner  of  brilliant  utterance  and  tongue-fence,  I  have 
hardly  known  his  fellow.  So  ready  lay  his  store  of  knowl- 
edge round  him,  so  perfect  was  his  ready  utterance  of  the 
same, — in  coruscating  wit,  in  jocund  drollery,  in  compact 
articulated  clearness  or  high  poignant  emphasis,  as  the  case 
required, — he  was  a  match  for  any  man  in  argument  before 
a  crowd  of  men.  One  of  the  most  supple-wristed,  dex- 
trous, graceful  and  successful  fencers  in  that  kind.  A 
man,  as  Mr.  Hare  has  said,  '  able  to  argue  with  four  or  five 
at  once  ; '  could  do  the  parrying  all  round,  in  a  succession 
swift  as  light,  and  plant  his  hits  wherever  a  chance  offered. 
In  Parliament,  such  a  soul  put  into  a  body  of  the  due 
toughness  might  have  carried  it  far.  If  ours  is  to  be  called, 
as  I  hear  some  call  it,  the  Talking  Era,  Sterling  of  all  men 
had  the  talent  to  excel  in  it. 

Probably  it  was  with  some  vague  view  towards  chances 
in  this  direction  that  Sterling's  first  engagement  was 
entered  upon  ;  a  brief  connection  as  Secretary  to  some 
Club  or  Association  into  which  certain  public  men,  of  the 
reforming  sort,  Mr.  Crawford  (the  Oriental  Diplomatist 
and  Writer),  Mr,  Kirkman  Finlay  (then  Member  for 
Glasgow),  and  other  political  notabilities  had  now  formed 
themselves, — with  what  spacific  objects  I  do  not  know,  nor 


A    PROFESSION. 


59 


M'ith  -what  result  if  any.  I  have  heard  vaguely,  it  was  '  to 
open  the  trade  to  India.'  Of  course  they  intended  to  stir 
up  the  public  mind  into  co-operation,  whatever  their  goal  or 
object  Avas  :  Mr.  Crawford,  an  intimate  in  the  Sterhng 
household,  recognized  the  fine  literary  gift  of  John  ;  and 
might  think  it  a  lucky  hit  that  he  had  caught  such  a  Secre- 
tary for  three  hundred  pounds  a  year.  That  was  the 
salary  agreed  upon  ;  and  for  some  months  actually  worked 
for  and  paid  ;  Sterhng  becoming  for  the  time  an  intimate 
and  almost  an  inmate  in  Mr.  Crawford's  circle,  doubtless 
not  Avithout  results  to  himself  beyond  the  secretarial  work 
and  pounds  sterling  :  so  much  is  certain.  But  neither  the 
Secretaryship  nor  the  Association  itself  had  any  continu- 
ance ;  nor  can  I  now  learn  accurately  more  of  it  than  what 
is  here  stated  ; — in  which  vague  state  it  must  vanish  from 
Sterling's  history  again,  as  it  in  great  measure  did  from  his 
life.  From  himself  in  after  years  I  never  heard  mention  of 
it ;  nor  were  his  pursuits  connected  afterwards  with  those 
of  Mr.  Crawford,  though  the  mutual  goodwill  continued 
unbroken. 

In  fact,  however  splendid  and  indubitable  Sterling's 
qualifications  for  a  parliamentary  life,  there  was  that  in  him 
withal  which  flatly  put  a  negative  on  any  such  project.  He 
had  not  the  slow  steady-pulling  dihgence  which  is  indispen- 
sable in  that,  as  in  all  important  pursuits  and  strenuous 
human  competitions  whatsoever.  In  every  sense,  his 
momentum  depended  on  velocity  of  stroke,  rather  than  on 
Aveight  of  metal:  "  beautifullest  sheet  hghtning,"  as  I  often 
said,  "  not  to  be  condensed  into  thunderbolts."  Add  to 
this, — Avhat  indeed  is  perhaps  but  the  same  phenomenon  in 
another  form, — his  bodily  frame  Avas  thin,  excitable,  already 


60  JOHN     STERLING. 

manifesting  pulmonary  symptoms  ;  a  body  which  the  tear 
and  wear  of  Parliament  would  infallibly,  in  few  months, 
have  wrecked  and  ended.  By  this  path  there  was  clearly 
no  mounting.  The  far-darting  restlessly  coruscating  soul, 
equipt  beyond  all  others  to  shine  in  the  Talking  Era,  and 
lead  National  Palavers  with  their  spolia  opima  captive,  is 
imprisoned  in  a  fragile  hectic  body  which  quite  forbids  the 
adventure.  '  Es  ist  dafur  gesorgt^  says  Goethe,  '  Pro- 
vision has  been  made  that  the  trees  do  not  grow  into  the 
sky  ; ' — means  are  always  there  to  stop  them  short  of  the 
sky. 


literature:     TUE    ATHEXiEUM.  61 


CHAPTER    VI 


LITERATURE  :     THE  ATHEN^UM. 


ear 


Of  all  forms  of  public  life,  in  the  Talking  Era,  it  was  el 
that  onlj  one  completely  suited  Sterling, — the  anarchic, 
nomadic,  entirely  aerial  and  unconditional  one,  called  Eit- 
erature.  To  this  all  his  tendencies,  and  fine  gifts  positive 
and  negative,  were  evidently  pointing ;  and  here,  after 
such  brief  attempting  or  thoughts  to  attempt  at  other  posts, 
he  already  in  this  same  year  arrives.  As  many  do,  and 
ever  more  must  do,  in  these  our  years  and  times.  This  is 
the  chaotic  haven  of  so  many  frustrate  activities  ;  where  all 
manner  of  good  gifts  go  up  in  far-seen  smoke  or  "conflagra- 
tion ;  and  whole  fleets,  that  might  have  been  Avar-fleets  to 
conquer  kingdoms,  are  consumed  (too  truly,  often),  amid 
'  fame  '  enough,  and  the  admiring  shouts  of  the  vulgar, 
which  is  always  fond  to  see  fire  going  on.  The  true 
Canaan  and  Mount  Zion  of  a  Talking  Era  must  ever  be 
Literature  :  the  extraneous,  miscellaneous,  self-elected, 
indescribable  Parliamentum^  or  Talking  Apparatus,  which 
talks  by  books  and  printed  papers. 

A  hterary  Newspaper  called  The  Athenceum,  the  same 
which  still  subsists,  had  been  founded  in  those  years  by  Mr.  ' 
Buckingham  ;  James  Silk  Buckingham,  who  has  since 
continued  notable  under  various  figures.  Mr.  Bucking- 
ham's Athenceum  had  not  as  yet  got  into  a  flourishing 
condition  ;  and  he  was  willing  to  sell  the  copyright  of  it  for 
-      6 


62  JOHN    STERLING. 

a  consideration.  Perhaps  Sterling  and  old  Cambridge 
friends  of  his  had  been  already  writing  for  it.  At  all  events, 
Sterling,  who  had  already  privately  begun  writing  a  Novel, 
and  was  clearly  looking  towards  Literature,  perceived  that 
his  gifted  Cambridge  friend,  Frederic  Maurice,  was  now 
also  at  large  in  a  somewhat  similar  situation  ;  and  that  here 
was  an  opening  for  both  of  them,  and  for  other  gifted 
friends.  The  copyright  was  purchased  for  I  know  not 
what  sum,  nor  with  whose  money,  but  guess  it  may  have 
been  Sterling's,  and  no  great  sum  ; — and  so,  under  free 
auspices,  themselves  their  own  captains,  Maurice  and  he 
spread  sail  for  this  new  voyage  of  adventure  into  all  the 
world.  It  was  about  the  end  of  1828  that  readers  of  peri- 
odical literature,  and  quidnuncs  in  -those  departments, 
began  to  report  the  appearance,  in  a  Paper  called  the 
Athenceum,  of  writings  shewing  a  superior  brilliancy,  and 
height  of  aim  ;  one  or  perhaps  two  slight  specimens  of 
which  came  into  my  own  hands,  in  my  remote  corner, 
about  that  time,  and  were  duly  recognized  by  me,  while  the 
authors  were  still  far  off  and  hidden  behind  deep  vails. 

Some  of  Sterling's  best  Papers  from  the  Athenceum 
have  been  published  by  Archdeacon  Hare  :  first  fruits  by 
a  young  man  of  twenty-two  ;  crude,  imperfect,  yet  singu- 
larly beautiful  and  attractive  ;  which  will  still  testify  what 
high  literary  promise  lay  in  him.  The  ruddiest  glow  of 
young  enthusiasm,  of  noble  incipient  spiritual  manhood 
reigns  over  them ;  once  more  a  divine  Universe  unvailing 
itself  in  gloom  and  splendor,  in  auroral  firelight  and  many- 
tinted  shadow,  full  of  hopa  and  full  of  awe,  to  a  young 
melodious  pious  heart  just  arrived  upon  it.  Often  enough 
the  delineation  has  a  certain  flowing  comjolcteness,  not  to 


LITERATUKE  :     THE    ATUEN^UM.  63 

be  expected  from  so  young  an  artist ;  here  and  there  is  a 
decided  felicity  of  insight ;  everywhere  the  point  of  view 
adopted  is  a  high  and  noble  one,  and  the  result  worked  out 
a  result  to  be  sympathized  with,  and  accepted  so  far  as  it 
will  go.  Good  reading  still,  those  Papers,  for  the  less 
furnished  mind, — thrice-excellent  reading  compared  with 
what  is  usually  going.  For  the  rest,  a  grand  melancholy 
is  the  prevailing  impression  they  leave ; — partly  as  if, 
while  the  surface  was  so  blooming  and  opulent,  the  heart  of 
them  was  still  vacant,  sad  and  cold.  Here  is  a  beautiful 
mirage,  in  the  dry  wilderness  ;  but  you  cannot  quench 
your  thirst  there  !  The  writer's  heart  is  indeed  still  too 
vacant,  except  of  beautiful  shadows  and  reflexes  and 
resonances  ;  and  is  far  from  joyful,  though  it  wears  com- 
monly a  smile. 

In  some  of  the  Greek  delineations  (^The  Lycian  Painter^ 
for  example),  we  have  already  noticed  a  strange  opulence 
of  splendor,  characterisable  as  half-legitimate,  half-meretri- 
cious,— a  splendor  hovering  between  the  raffaelesque  and 
the  japannish.  What  other  things  Sterling  wrote  there,  I 
never  knew  ;  nor  would  he  in  any  mood,  in  those  later 
days,  have  told  you,  had  you  asked.  This  period  of  his 
life  he  alwavs  rather  accounted,  as  the  Arabs  do  the 
idolatrous  times 'before  Mahomet's  advent,  the  'period  of 
darkness.' 


64 


JOHN    STERLING. 


CHAPTER    VII. 


REGENT     STREET. 


On  the  commercial  side,  the  Athenceum  still  lacked  suc- 
cess ;  nor  was  like  to  find  it  under  the  highly  uncommercial 
management  it  had  now  got  into.  This,  by  and  by,  began 
to  be  a  serious  consideration.  For  money  is  the  sinews  of 
Periodical  Literature  almost  as  much  as  of  war  itself; 
without  money,  and  under  a  constant  drain  of  loss.  Periodi- 
cal Literature  is  one  of  the  things  that  cannot  be  carried 
on.  In  no  long  time  Sterling  began  to  be  practically 
sensible  of , this  truth  ;  and  that  an  unpleasant  resolution  in 
accordance  with  it  would  be  necessary.  By  him  also,  after 
a  while,  the  Athemeum  was  transferred  to  other  hands, 
better  fitted  in  that  respect ;  and  under  these  it  did  take 
vigorous  root,  and  still  bears  fruit  according  to  its  kind. 

For  the  present,  it  brought  him  into  the  thick  of  London 
Literature,  especially  of  young  London  Literature  and 
speculation  ;  in  which  turbid  exciting  element  he  swam  and 
reveled,  nothing  loath,  for  certain  months  longer, — a  period 
short  of  two  years  in  all.  He  had  Wdgings  in  Regent 
Street :  his  Father's  house,  now  a  flourishing  and  stirring 
establishment,  in  South  Place,  Knightsbridge,  where,  under 
the  warmth  of  increasing  revenue  and  success,  miscella- 
neous cheerful  socialities  and  abundant  speculations,  cbiefly 
political  (and  not  John's  kind,  but  that  of  the  Times 
Newspaper  and  the  Clubs),  were  rife,  he  could  visit  daily, 


REGENT    STREET.  65 

and  yet  be  master  of  his  own  studies  and  pursuits. 
Maurice,  Trench,  John  Mill,  Charles  Buller :  these,  and 
some  few  others,  among  a  wide  circle  of  a  transitory  phan- 
tasmal character,  whom  he  speedily  forgot  and  cared  not 
to  remember,  were  much  about  him ;  with  these  he  in  all 
■ways  employed  and  disported  himself :  a  first  favorite  with 
them  all. 

No  pleasanter  companion,  I  suppose,  had  any  of  them. 
So  frank,  open,  guileless,  fearless,  a  brother  to  all  worthy 
souls  whatsoever.  Come  when  you  might,  here  is  he  open- 
hearted,  rich  in  cheerful  fancies,  in  grave  logic,  in  all 
kinds  of  bright  activity.  If  perceptibly  or  imperceptibly 
there  is  a  touch  of  ostentation  in  him,  blame  it  not ;  it  is  so 
innocent,  so  good  and  childlike.  He  is  still  fonder  of 
jingling  publicly,  and  spreading  on  the  table,  your  big 
purse  of  opulences  than  his  own.  Abrupt  too  he  is,  cares 
little  for  big  wigs  and  garnitures ;  perhaps  laughs  more 
than  the  real  fun  he  has  would  order  ;  but  of  arrogance 
there  is  no  vestige,  of  insincerity  or  of  ill-nature  none. 
These  must  have  been  pleasant  evenings  in  Regent  Street, 
when  the  circle  chanced  to  be  well  adjusted  there.  At 
other  times,  Philistines  would  enter,  what  we  call  bores, 
dullards.  Children  of  Darkness  ;  and  then, — except  in  a 
hunt  of  dullards,  and  a  bore-haiting,  which  might  be  per- 
missible,— the  evening  was  dark.  Sterling,  of  course,  had 
innumerable  cares  withal ;  and  was  toiling  like  a  slave  ; 
his  very  recreations  almost  a  kind  of  work.  An  enormous 
activity  was  in  the  man ; — sufficient  in  a  body  that  could 
have  held  it  without  breaking,  to  have  gone  far,  even 
under  the  unstable  guidance  it  was  like  to  have  ! 

Thus,  too,  an  extensive,  very  variegated  circle  of  con- 
6# 


66  JOHN    STERLING. 

nections  was  forming  round  him.  Besides  his  Athenceum 
work,  and  evenings  in  Regent  Street  and  elsewhere,  he 
makes  visits  to  country-houses,  the  Bullers'  and  others; 
converses  with  established  gentlemen,  with  honorable 
women  not  a  few ;  is  gay  and  welcome  with  the  young  of 
his  own  age ;  knows  also  religious,  witty  and  other  distin- 
guished ladies,  and  is  admirably  known  by  them.  On  the 
whole,  he  is  already  locomotive  ;  visits  hither  and  thither  in 
a  very  rapid  flying  manner.  Thus  I  find  he  had  made  one 
flying  visit  to  the  Cumberland  Lake  region  in  1828,  and 
got  sight  of  Wordsworth  ;  and  in  the  same  year  another 
flying  one  to  Paris,  and  seen  with  no  undue  enthusiasm  the 
Saint-Simonian  Portent  just  beginning  to  preach  for  itself, 
and  France  in  general  simmering  under  a  scum  of  impie- 
ties, levities,  Saint-Simonisms,  and  frothy  fantasticalities  of 
all  kinds,  towards  the  boiling-over  which  soon  made  the 
Three  Days  of  July  famous.  But  by  far  the  most  im- 
portant foreign  home  he  visited  was  that  of  Coleridge  on 
the  Hill  of  Highgate, — if  it  were  not  rather  a  foreign 
shrine  and  Dodona-Oracle,  as  he  then  reckoned, — to  which 
(onwards  from  1828,  as  would  appear)  he  was  already  an 
assiduous  pilgrim.  Concerning  whom,  and  Sterling's  all 
important  connection  with  him,  there  will  be  much  to  say 
anon. 

Here,  from  this  period  is  a  Letter  of  Sterling's  which 
the  glimpses  it  affords  of  bright  scenes  and  figures  now 
sunk,  so  many  of  them,  sorrowfully  to  the  realm  of  shadows, 
will  render  interesting  to  some  of  my  readers.  To  me  on 
the  mere  Letter,  not  on  its  contents  alone,  there  is  acci- 
dentally a  kind  of  fateful  stamp.  A  few  months  after 
Charles  Buller's  death,  while  his  loss  was  mourned  by  many 


REGENT    STREET.  67 

hearts,  and  to  his  poor  Mother  all  light  except  what  hung 
upon  his  memory  had  gone  out  in  the  world,  a  certain 
delicate  and  friendly  hand,  hoping  to  give  the  poor 
bereaved  lady  a  good  moment,  sought  out  this  Letter  of 
Sterling's  one  morning,  and  called,  with  intent  to  read  it 
to  her : — alas,  the  poor  lady  had  herself  fallen  suddenly 
into  the  languors  of  death,  help  of  another  grander  sort 
no^  close  at  hand ;  and  to  her  this  Letter  was  never 
read  : — 

On  '  Fanny  Kemble,'  it  appears,  there  is  an  Essay  by 
Sterling  in  the  Athenceam  of  this  year  :  '  16th  December, 
1829.'  Very  laudatory,  I  conclude.  He  much  admired 
her  genius,  nay  was  thought  at  one  time  to  be  vaguely  on 
the  edge  of  still  more  chivalrous  feelings.  As  the  Letter 
itself  may  perhaps  indicate. 

To  Anthony  Sterling^  Esq.,  1\th  Regiment,  Dublin. 

Knightsbridge,  Nov.  10th,  1829. 

'  My  dear  Anthony, — Here  in  the  Capital  of  England 
and  of  Europe,  there  is  less,  so  far  as  I  hear,  of  movement 
and  variety  than  in  your  provincial  Dublin,  or  among  the. 
Wicklow  Mountains.  We  have  the  old  prospect  of  bricks 
and  smoke,  the  old  crowd  of  busy  stupid  faces,  the  old 
occupations,  the  old  sleepy  amusements  ;  and  the  latest 
news  that  reaches  us  daily  has  an  air  of  tiresome,  doting 
antiquity.  The  world  has  nothing  for  it  but  to  exclaim 
with  Faust,  "  Give  me  my  youth  again."  And  as  for  me, 
my  month  of  Cornish  amusement  is  over ;  and  I  must  tie 
myself  to  my  old  employments.  I  have  not  much  to  tell 
you  about  these  ;  but  perhaps  you  may  like  to  hear  of  my 
expedition  to  the  West. 


68  JOHN    STERLING. 

'  I  wrote  to  Polvellan  (IMr.  Buller's)  to  announce  the 
day  on  which  I  intended  to  be  there,  so  shortly  before  set- 
ting out,  that  there  was  no  time  to  receive  an  answer ;  and 
when  I  reached  Devonport,  which  is  fifteen  or  sixteen  miles 
from  my  place  of  destination,  I  found  a  letter  from  Mrs. 
Buller,  saying,  that  she  was  coming  in  two  days  to  a  Ball 
at  Plymouth,  and  if  I  chose  to  stay  in  the  meanwhile  and 
look  about  me,  she  would  take  me  back  with  her.  She 
added  an  introduction  to  a  relation  of  her  husband's,  a  cer- 
tain Captain  Buller  of  the  Rifles,  who  was  with  the  Depot 
there, — a  pleasant  person,  ^who  I  believe  had  been  ac- 
quainted with  Charlotte,*  or  at  least  had  seen  her.  Under 
his  superintendence ' —  *  *  * 

'  On  leaving  Devonport  with  Mrs.  Buller,  I  went  some 
of  the  way  by  water,  up  the  harbor  and  river  ;  and  the 
prospects  are  certainly  very  beautiful ;  to  say  nothing  of 
the  large  ships,  which  I  admire  almost  as  much  as  you, 
though  without  knowing  so  much  about  them.  There  is  a 
great  deal  of  fine  scenery  all  along  the  road  to  Looe ;  and 
the  House  itself,  a  very  unpretending  Gothic  cottage, 
stands  beautifully  among  trees,  hills  and  water,  with  the  sea 
at  the  distance  of  a  quarter  of  a  mile. 

'  And  here,  among  pleasant,  good-natured,  well-informed, 
and  clever  people,  I  spent  an  idle  month.  I  dined  at  one 
or  two  Corporation  dinners ;  spent  a  few  days  at  the  old 
Mansion  of  Mr.  Buller  of  Morval,  the  patron  of  West 
Looe ;  and  during  the  rest  of  the  time,  read,  wrote, 
played  chess,  lounged,  and  ate  red  mullet  (he  who  has  not 
done  this  has  not  begun  to  live)  ;  talked  of  cookery  to  the 

*  Mrs.  Anthony  Sterling,  very  lately  Miss  Charlotte  Baird. 


REGENT    STREET.  69 

philosophers,  aud  of  metaphysics  to  Mrs.  Buller ;  and  alto- 
gether cultivated  indolence,  and  developed  the  faculty  of 
nonsense  with  considerable  pleasure  and  unexampled  suc- 
cess. Charles  Buller  you  know :  he  has  just  come  to  town, 
but  I  have  not  yet  seen  him.  Arthur  his  younger  brother, 
I  take  to  be  one  of  the  handsomest  men  in  England  ;  and 
he  too  has  considerable  talent.  Mr.  Buller  the  father  is 
rather  a  clever  man  of  sense,  and  particularly  good-natured 
and  gentlemanly  ;  and  his  wife,  who  was  a  renowned  beauty 
and  queen  of  Calcutta,  has  still  many  striking  and  delicate 
traces  of  what  she  was.  Her  conversation  is  more  briUiant 
and  pleasant  than  that  of  any  one  I  know ;  and,  at  all 
events,  I  am  bound  to  admire  her  for  the  kindness  with 
which  she  patronises  me.  I  hope  that,  some  day  or  other, 
you  may  be  acquainted  with  her. 

'  I  believe  I  have  seen  no  one  in  London  about  whom  you 
would  care  to  hear, — unless  the  fame  of  Fanny  Kemble  has 
passed  the  Channel,  and  astonished  the  Irish  Barbarians  in 
the  midst  of  their  bloody-minded  politics.  Young  Kemble, 
whom  you  have  seen,  is  in  Germany  :  but  I  have  the  hap- 
piness of  being  also  acquainted  with  his  sister,  the  divine 
Fanny  ;  and  I  have  seen  her  twice  on  the  stage,  and  three 
or  four  times  in  private,  since  my  return  from  Cornwall.  I 
had  seen  some  beautiful  verses  of  hers,  long  before  she 
was  an  actress  ;  and  her  conversation  is  full  of  spirit  and 
talent.  She  never  was  taught  to  act  at  all ;  and  though 
there  are  many  faults  in  her  performance  of  Juliet,  there 
is  more  power  than  in  any  female  playing  I  ever  saw,  ex- 
cept Pasta's  Medea.  She  is  not  handsome,  rather  short, 
and  by  no  means  delicately  formed  ;  but  her  face  is  marked, 
and  the  eyes  are  brilliant,  dark,  and  full  of  character.    She 


70 


JOHN    STERLING. 


has  far  more  ability  than  she  ever  can  display  on  the  stage  ; 
but  I  have  no  doubt  that,  by  practice  and  self-culture,  she 
will  be  a  far  finer  actress  at  least  than  any  one  since  Mrs. 
Siddons.     I  was  at  Charles  Kemble's  a  few  evenings  ago, 
when  a  drawing  of  Miss  Kemble,  by  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence, 
was  brought  in  ;  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  you  will  shortly 
see,  even  in  Dublin,  an  engraving  of  her  from  it,  very  un- 
like the  caricatures  that  have  hitherto  appeared.     I  hate 
the  stage  ;  and  but  for  her,  should  very  likely  never  have 
gone  to  a  theatre  again.     Even  as  it  is,  the  annoyance  is 
much  more  than  the  pleasure  ;  but  I  suppose  I  must  go  to 
see  her  in  every  character  in  which  she  acts.     If  Char- 
lotte cares  for  plays,  let  me  know,  and  I  will  write  in  more 
detail  about  this  new  Melpomene.     I  fear  there  are  very 
few  subjects  on  which  I  can  say  any  thing  that  will  in  the 
least  interest  her. — Ever  affectionately  yours, 

J.  Sterling.' 

Sterling  and  his  circle,  as  their  ardent  speculation  and 
activity  fermented  along,  were  in  all  things  clear  for  pro- 
gress, liberalism ;  their  politics,  and  view  of  the  Universe, 
decisively  of  the  Radical  sort.  As  indeed  that  of  England 
then  was,  more  than  ever ;  the  crust  of  old  hidebound 
Toryism  being  now  openly  cracking  towards  some  incurable 
disruption,  which  accordingly  ensued  as  the  Reform  Bill 
before  long.  The  Reform  Bill  already  hung  in  the  wind. 
Old  hidebound  Toryism,  long  recognized  by  all  the  world, 
and  now  at  last  obliged  to  recognize  its  very  self,  for  an 
overgrown  Imposture,  supporting  itself  not  by  human  rea- 
son, but  by  flunkey  blustering  and  brazen  lying,  superadded 
to  mere  brute  force,  could  be  no  creed  for  young  Sterling 


REGENT    STREET.  71 

and  his  friends.  In  all  things  he  and  they  were  liberals, 
and,  as  was  natural  at  this  stage,  democrats ;  contemplating 
root-and-branch  innovation  by  aid  of  the  hustings  and  bal- 
lot-box. Hustings  and  ballot-box  had  speedily  to  vanish 
out  of  Sterling's  thoughts ;  but  the  character  of  root-and- 
branch  innovator,  essentially  of  '  Radical  Reformer,'  was 
indelible  with  him,  and  under  all  forms  could  be  traced  as 
his  character  through  life. 

For  the  present,  his  and  those  young  people's  aim  was : 
By  democracy,  or  what  means  there  are,  be  all  impostures 
put  down.  Speedy  end  to  Superstition, — a  gentle  one  if 
you  can  contrive  it,  but  an  end.  What  can  it  profit  any 
mortal  to  adopt  locutions  and  imaginations  which  do  not 
correspond  to  fact ;  which  no  sane  mortal  can  deliberately 
adopt  in  his  soul  as  true  ;  which  the  most  orthodox  of  mor- 
tals can  only,  and  this  after  infinite  essentially  impious 
efibrt  to  put  out  the  eyes  of  his  mind,  persuade  himself  to 
'  believe  that  he  believes  ? '  Away  with  it ;  in  the  name  of 
God,  come  out  of  it,  all  true  men  ! 

Piety  of  heart,  a  certain  reality  of  religious  faith,  was 
always  Sterling's,  the  gift  of  nature  to  him  which  he  would 
not  and  could  not  throw  away  ;  but  I  find  at  this  time  his 
religion  is  as  good  as  altogether  Ethnic,  Greekish,  what 
Goethe  calls  the  Heathen  form  of  religion.  The  Church, 
with  her  articles,  is  without  relation  to  him.  And  along 
with  obsolete  spiritualisms,  he  sees  all  manner  of  obsolete 
thrones  and  big-wigged  temporalities ;  and  for  them  also 
can  prophesy,  and  wish,  only  a  speedy  doom.  Doom  inev- 
itable, registered  in  Heaven's  Chancery  from  the  beginning 
of  days,  doom  unalterable  as  the  pillars  of  the  world ;  the 


72  JOHN  Sterling. 

gods  are  angry,  and  all  Nature   groans^  till  this  doom  of 
eternal  justice  be  fulfilled. 

With  gaj  audacity,  -with  enthusiasm  tempered  by  mock- 
ery, as  is  the  manner  of  young  gifted  men,  this  faith, 
grounded  for  the  present  on  democracy  and  hustings  opera- 
tions, and  giving  to  all  Hfe  the  aspect  of  a  chivalrous  battle- 
field, or  almost  of  a  gay  though  perilous  tournament,  and 
bout  of  "  A  hundred  knights  against  all  comers," — was 
'maintained  by  Sterling  and  his  friends.  And  in  fine,  after 
whatever  loud  remonstrances,  and  solemn  considerations, 
and  such  shaking  of  our  wigs  as  is  undoubtedly  natural  in 
the  case,  let  us  be  just  to  it  and  him.  We  shall  have  to 
admit,  nay,  it  will  behove  us  to  see  and  practically  know, 
for  ourselves  and  him  and  others,  that  the  essence  of  this 
creed,  in  times  like  ours,  was  right  and  not  wrong.  That, 
however  the  ground  and  form  of  it  might  change,  essen- 
tially it  w^as  the  monition  of  his  natal  genius  to  this  as  it  is 
to  every  brave  man  ;  the  behest  of  all  his  clear  insight  into 
this  Universe,  the  message  of  Heaven  through  him,  which 
he  could  not  suppress,  but  was  inspired  and  compelled  to 
utter  in  this  world  by  such  methods  as  he  had.  There  for 
him  lay  the  first  commandment ;  tJiis  is  what  it  would  have 
been  the  unforgivable  sin  to  swerve  from  and  desert :  the 
treason  of  treasons  for  him,  it  were  there  ;  compared  with 
which  all  other  sins  are  venial ! . 

The  message  did  not  cease  at  all,  as  we  shall  see ;  the 
message  was  ardently,  if  fitfully,  continued  to  the  end  :  but 
the  methods,  the  tone  and  dialect  and  all  outer  conditions 
of  uttering  it,  underwent  most  important  modifications  ! 


COLERIDGE.  73 


CHAPTER    VIII 


COLERIDGE. 


Coleridge  sat  on  the  brow  of  HIgligate  Hill,  in  those 
years,  looking  down  on  London  and  its  smoke-tumult,  like 
a  sage  escaped  from  the  inanity  of  life's  battle  ;  attracting 
towards  him  the  thoughts  of  innumerable  brave  souls  still 
engaged  there.  His  express  contributions  to  poetry,  phi- 
losophy, or  any  specific  province  of  human  hterature  or 
enlightenment,  had  been  small  and  sadly  intermittent ;  but 
he  had,  especially  among  young  inquiring  men,  a  higher 
than  literary,  a  kind  of  prophetic  or  magician  character. 
He  was  thought  to  hold,  he  alone  in  England,  the  key  of 
German  and  other  Transcendentalisms ;  knew  the  sublime  * 
secret  of  believing  by  *  the  reason '  what  '  the  understand- 
ing '  had  been  obliged  to  fling  out  as  incredible  ;  and  could 
still,  after  Hume  and  Voltaire  had  done  their  best  and 
worst  with  him,  profess  himself  an  orthodox  Christian,  and 
say  and  print  to  the  Church  of  England,  with  its  singular 
old  rubrics  and  surplices  at  Allhallowtide,  Esto  perpetua. 
A  sublime  man ;  who,  alone  in  those  dark  days,  had  saved 
his  crown  of  spiritual  manhood  ;  escaping  from  the  black 
materialisms,  and  revolutionary  deluges,  with  '  God,  Free- 
dom, Immortality '  still  his :  a  king  of  men.  The  practical 
intellects  of  the  world  did  not  much  heed  him,  or  carelessly 
reckoned  him  a  metaphysical  dreamer :  but  to  the  rising 
spirits  of  the  young  generation  ho  had  this  dusky  sublime 
7 


74  JOHN    STERLING. 

character  ;  and  sat  there  as  a  kind  of  Blagus,  girt  in  mys- 
tery and  enigma;  his  Dodona  oak-grove  (Mr.  Oilman's 
house  at  Higbgate)  whispering  strange  things,  uncertain 
•whether  oracles  or  jargon. 

The  Gilmans  did  not  encourage  much  company,  or  exci- 
tation of  any  sort,  round  their  sage  ;  nevertheless  access  to 
him,  if  a  youth  did  reverently  wish  it,  was  not  difficult. 
He  would  stroll  about  the  pleasant  garden  with  you,  sit  in 
the  pleasant  rooms  of  the  place,— perhaps  take  you  to  his 
own  pecuUar  room,  high  up,  with  a  rearward  view,  which 
was  the  chief  view  of  all.  A  really  charming  outlook,  in 
fine  weather.  Close  at  hand,  wide  sweep  of  flowery  leafy 
gardens,  their  few  houses  mostly  hidden,  the  very  chimney- 
pots vailed  under  blossomy  umbrage,  flowed  gloriously 
down  hill ;  gloriously  issuing  in  wide-tufted  undulating 
plain-country,  rich  in  all  charms  of  field  and  town.  Wav- 
ing blooming  country  of  the  brightest  green  ;  dotted  all 
over  with  handsome  villas,  handsome  groves ;  crossed  by 
roads  and  human  traffic,  here  inaudible  or  heard  only  as  a 
musical  hum:  and  behind  all  swam,  under  olive-tinted 
haze,  the  illimitable  limitary  ocean  of  London,  with  its 
domes  and  steeples  definite  in  the  sun,  big  Paul's  and  the 
many  memories  attached  to  it  hanging  high  over  all.  No- 
where, of  its  kind,  could  you  see  a  grander  prospect  on  a 
bright  summer  day,  with  the  set  of  the  air  going  south- 
ward,—southward,  and  so  draping  with  the  city-smoke  not 
you  but  the  city.  Here  for  hours  would  Coleridge  talk, 
concerning  all  conceivable  or  inconceivable  things:  and 
liked  nothing  better  than  to  have  an  intelligent,  or  failing 
that,  even  a  silent  and  patient  human  listener.  He  distin- 
ffuished  himself  to  all  that  ever  heard  him  as  at  least  the 


COLERIDGE.  75 

most  surprising  talker  extant  in  this  world, — and  to  some 
small  minority,  by  no  means  to  all,  as  the  most  excellent. 

The  good  man,  he  was  now  getting  old,  towards  sixty 
perhaps  ;  and  gave  you  the  idea  of  a  life  that  had  been  full 
of  sufferings ;  a  life  heavy-laden,  half  vanquished,  still 
swimming  painfully  in  seas  of  manifold  physical  and  other 
bewilderment.  Brow  and  head  were  round,  and  of  massive 
weight,  but  the  face  was  flabby  and  irresolute.  The  deep 
eyes,  of  a  light  hazel,  were  as  full  of  sorrow  as  of  inspira- 
tion ;  confused  pain  looked  mildly  from  them,  as  in  a  kind 
of  mild  astonishment.  The  whole  figure  and  air,  good  and 
amiable  otherwise,  might  be  called  flabby  and  irresolute ; 
expressive  of  weakness  under  possibility  of  strength.  He 
hung  loosely  on  his  limbs,  with  knees  bent,  and  stooping 
attitude  ;  in  walking,  he  rather  shufiled  than  decisively 
stept ;  and  a  lady  once  remarked,  he  never  could  fix  which 
side  of  the  garden-walk  would  suit  him  best,  but  continually 
shifted,  in  corkscrew  fashion,  and  kept  trying  both.  A 
heavy-laden,  high-aspiring  and  surely  much-suffering  man. 
His  voice,  naturally  soft  and  good,  had  contracted  itself 
into  a  plaintive  snuffle  and  singsong ;  he  spoke  as  if  preach- 
ing,— you  would  have  said,  preaching  earnestly  and  also 
hopelessly  the  weightiest  things.  I  still  recollect  his 
'  object '  and  '  subject,'  terms  of  continual  recurrence  in 
the  Kantean  province  ;  and  how  he  sung  and  snuffled  them 
into  "  om-m-mject  "  and  "  sum-m-mject,"  with  a  kind  of 
solemn  shake  or  quaver,  as  he  rolled  along.  No  talk,  in 
his  century  or  in  any  other,  could  be  more  surprising. 

Sterling,  who  assiduously  attended  him,  with  profound 
reverence,  and  was  often  with  him  by  himself,  for  a  good 


76  JOHN    STERLING. 

many   months,   gives   a   record   of    their   first   colloquy.* 
Their  colloquies  were  numerous,  and  he  had  taken  note  of 
many  ;  but  they  are  all  gone  to  the  fire,  except  this  first, 
which  Mr.  Hare  has  printed, — unluckily  without  date.     It 
contains  a  number  of  ingenious,  true  and  half  true  observa- 
tions, and  is  of  course  a  faithful  epitome  of  the  things  said  ; 
but  it  gives  small  idea  of  Coleridge's  way  of  talking ; — this 
one  feature  is  perhaps  the  most  recognizable,  '  Our  inter- 
view lasted  for   three  hours,  during  which   he  talked  two 
hours  and  three-quarters.'     Nothing  could  be  more  copious 
than  his  talk  ;  and  furthermore  it  was  always  virtually  or 
literally,  of  the  nature  of  a  monologue  ;    suffering  no  inter- 
ruption, however  reverent ;  hastily  putting  aside  all  foreign 
additions,  annotations,  or  most  ingenuous  desires  for  eluci- 
dation, as  well-meant  superfluities  which  would  never  do. 
Besides,  it  was  talk  not  flowing  anywhither  like  a  river,  but 
spreading  everywhither  in  inextricable  currents  and  regur- 
gitations like  a  lake  or  sea  ;   terribly  deficient  in  definite 
goal  or  aim,  nay  often  in  logical  intelligibility  ;   what  you 
were  to  believe   or  do,  on  any  earthly  or  heavenly  thing, 
obstinately  refusing  to  appear  from  it.    So  that,  most  times, 
you  felt  logically  lost ;   swamped  near  to  drowning  in  this 
tide  of  ingenious  vocables,  spreading  out  boundless  as  if  to 
submerge  the  world. 

To  sit  as  a  passive  bucket  and  be  pumped  into,  whether 
you  consent  or  not,  can  in  the  long-run  be  exliilarating  to 
no  creature  ;  how  eloquent  soever  the  flood  of  utterance 
that  is  descending.  But  if  it  be  withal  a  confused  unintelli- 
gible flood  of  utterance,  threatening  to  submerge  all  known 

*  Biography  by  Hare,  pp.  xvi.-xxvi. 


COLERIDGE.  7 ( 

landmarks  of  thought,  and  dro\Yn  the  world  and  you ! — I 
have  heard  Coleridge  talk,  with  eager  musical  energy,  two 
stricken  hours,  his  face  radiant  and  moist,  and  communicate 
no  meaning  whatsoever  to  any  individual  of  his  hearers, — 
certain  of  whom,  I  for  one,  still  kept  eagerly  listening  in 
hope  ;  the  most  had  long  before  given  up,  and  formed  (if 
the  room  were  large  enough)  secondary  humming  groups 
of  their  own.  He  began  any  where  :  you  put  some  ques- 
tion to  him,  made  some  suggestive  observation  ;  instead  of 
answering  this,  or  decidedly  setting  out  towards  answer  of 
it,  he  would  accumulate  formidable  apparatus,  logical  swim- 
bladders,  transcendental  life-preservers  and  other  precau- 
tionary and  vehiculatory  gear,  for  setting  out ;  perhaps 
did  at  last  get  under  way, — but  was  swiftly  sohcited,  turn- 
ed aside  by  the  glance  of  some  radiant  new  game  on  this 
hand  or  that,  into  new  courses  ;  and  ever  into  new ;  and 
before  long  into  all  the  Universe,  where  it  was  uncertain 
what  game  you  would  catch,  or  whether  any. 

His  talk,  alas,  was  distinguished,  like  himself,  by  irreso- 
lution :  it  disliked  to  be  troubled  with  conditions,  abstinen- 
ces, definite  fulfillments  ; — loved  to  Avander  at  its  own  sweet 
will,  and  make  its  auditor  and  his  claims  and  humble  wishes 
a  mere  passive  bucket  for  itself!  He  had  knowledge  about 
many  things  and  topics,  much  curious  reading ;  but  gener- 
ally all  topics  led  him,  after  a  pass  or  two,  into  the  high 
seas  of  theosophic  philosophy,  the  hazy  infinitude  of  Kan- 
tean  transcendentalism,  with  its  '  sum-m-mjects'  and  '  om- 
m-rajects.'  Sad  enough  ;  for  with  such  indolent  impatience 
of  the  claims  and  ignorances  of  others,  he  had  not  the  least 
talent  for  explaining  this  or  any  thing  unknown  to  them  ; 
and  you  swam  and  fluttered  in  the  mistiest  wide  unintelligi- 
7* 


78  .  JOHN    STERLING. 

ble  deluge  of  things,  for  most  part  in  a  rather  profitless  un- 
comfortable manner. 

Glorious  islets,  too,  I  have  seen  rise  out  of  the  haze  ; 
but  they  were  few,  and  soon  swallowed  in  the  general  ele- 
ment again.  Balmy  sunny  islets,  islets  of  the  blest  and  the 
intelligible  ; — on  which  occasion  those  secondary  humming 
groups  would  all  cease  humming,  and  hang  breathless  upon 
the  eloquent  words ;  till  once  your  islet  got  wrapt  in  the 
mist  again,  and  they  could  recommence  humming.  Elo- 
quent artistically  expressive  words  you  always  had ;  pierc- 
ing radiances  of  a  most  subtle  insight  came  at  intervals ; 
tones  of  noble  pious  sympathy,  recognizable  as  pious  though 
strangely  colored,  were  never  wanting  long  :  but  in  general 
you  could  not  call  this  aimless,  -eloud-capt,  cloud-based, 
lawlessly  meandering  human  discourse  of  reason  by  the 
name  of  '  excellent  talk,'  but  only  of  '  surprising ;'  and 
were  reminded  bitterly  of  Hazlitt's  account  of  it:  "  Excel- 
lent talker,  very, — if  you  let  him  start  from  no  premises 
and  come  to  no  conclusion."  Coleridge  was  not  without 
what  talkers  call  wit,  and  there  were  touches  of  prickly 
sarcasm  in  him,  contemptuous  enough  of  the  world  and  its 
idols  and  popular  dignitaries  ;  he  had  traits  even  of  poetic 
humor:  but  in  general  he  seemed  deficient  in  Uughter; 
or  indeed  in  sympathy  for  concrete  human  things  either  on 
the  sunny  or  on  the  stormy  side.  One  right  peal  of  con- 
crete laughter  at  some  convicted  flesh-and  blood  absurdity, 
one  burst  of  noble  indignation  at  some  injustice  or  depravi- 
ty, rubbing  elbows  with  us  on  this  solid  Earth,  how  strange 
would  it  have  been  in  that  Kantean  haze-world,  and  how 
infinitely  cheering  amid  its  vacant  air-castles  and  dim-melt- 
ing ghosts  and  shadows !     None  such  ever  came.     His  life 


COLERIDGE.  79 

had  been  an  abstract  thinking  and  dreaming,  idealistic, 
passed  amid  the  ghosts  of  defunct  bodies  and  of  unborn 
ones.  The  moaning  sing-song  of  that  theosophicometaphy- 
sical  monotony  left  on  you,  at  last,  a  very  dreary  feeling. 

In  close  colloquy,  flowing  within  narrower  banks,  I  sup- 
pose he  was  more  definite  and  apprehensible  ;  Sterling  in 
after  times  did  not  complain  of  his  unintelligibility,  or  im- 
puted it  only  to  the  abstruse  high  nature  of  the  topics 
handled.  Let  us  hope  so,  let  us  try  to  believe  so  I  There 
is  no  doubt  but  Coleridge  could  speak  plain  words  on  things 
plain :  his  observations  and  responses  on  the  trivial  matters 
that  occurred  were  as  simple  as  the  commonest  man's,  or 
■were  even  distinguished  by  superior  simplicity  as  well  as 
pertinency.  "Ah,  your  tea  is  too  cold,  Mr.  Coleridge !" 
mourned  the  good  Mrs.  Oilman  once,  in  her  kind,  reveren- 
tial and  yet  protective  manner,  handing  him  a  very  tolera- 
ble though  belated  cup.  "  It's  better  than  I  deserve !" 
snuffled  he,  in  a  low  hoarse  murmur,  partly  courteous, 
chiefl}'-  pious,  the  tone  of  which  still  abides  with  me :  "  It's 
better  than  I  deserve  !" 

But  indeed,  to  the  young  ardent  mind,  instinct  with 
pious  nobleness,  yet  driven  to  the  grim  deserts  of  Radical- 
ism for  a  faith,  his  speculations  had  a  charm  much  more 
than  literary,  a  charm  almost  religious  and  prophetic.  The 
constant  gist  of  his  discourse  was  lamentation  over  the 
sunk  condition  of  the  world  ;  which  he  recognized  to  be 
given  up  to  Atheism  and  Materialism,  full  of  mere  sordid 
misbeliefs,  mispursuits  and  misresults.  All  Science  had 
become  mechar.ical  ;  the  science  not  of  men,  but  of  a  kind 
of  human  beavers.  Churches  themselves  had  died  away 
into  a  godless  mechanical  condition  ;  and  etood  there  as 


80  JOHN    STERLING. 

mere  Cases  of  Articles,  mere  forms  of  Churches ;  like  the 
dried  carcasses  of  once  swift  camels,  which  you  find  left 
Avithering  in  the  thirst  of  the  universal  desert, — ghastly 
portents  for  the  present,  beneficent  ships  of  the  desert  no 
more.  Men's  souls  were  blinded,  hebetated  ;  sunk  under 
the  influence  of  Atheism  and  Materialism,  and  Hume  and 
Voltaire  :  the  world  for  the  present  was  as  an  extinct  world, 
deserted  of  God,  and  incapable  of  well-doing  till  it  changed 
its  heart  and  spirit.  This,  expressed  I  think  with  less  of 
indignation  and  with  more  of  long-drawn  querulousness,  was 
always  recognizable  as  the  ground-tone  : — in  which  truly  a 
pious  young  heart,  driven  into  Radicalism  and  the  opposi- 
tion party,  could  not  but  recognize  a  too  sorrowful  truth  ; 
and  ask  of  the  Oracle,  with  all  earnestness.  What  remedy, 
then  ? 

The  remedy,  though  Coleridge  himself  professed  to  see 
it  as  in  sunbeams,  could  not,  except  by  processes  unspeak- 
ably difficult,  be  described  to  you  at  all.  On  the  whole, 
those  dead  Churches,  this  dead  English  Church  especially, 
must  be  brought  to  life  again.  Why  not  ?  It  was  not 
dead  ;  the  soul  of  it,  in  this  parched-up  body,  was  tragi- 
cally asleep  only.  Atheistic  Philosophy  was  true  on  its 
side,  and  Hume  and  Voltaire  could  'on  their  own  ground 
speak  irrefragably  for  themselves  against  any  Church : 
but  lift  the  Church  and  them  into  a  higher  sphere  of  argu- 
ment tliey  died  into  inanition,  the  Church  revivified  itself 
into  pristine  florid  vigor, — became  once  more  a  living  ship 
of  the  desert,  and  invincibly  bore  you  over  stock  and  stone. 
But  how,  but  how  !  By  attending  to  the  '  reason '  of  man, 
said  Coleridge,  and  duly  chaining  up  the  '  understanding' 
of  man  :   the   Vernunft  (Reason)   and  Verstand  (Under- 


COLERIDGE.    ,  81 

standing)  of  the  Germans,  it  all  turned  upon  these,  if  you 
could  well  understand  them, — which  jou  couldn't.  For 
the  rest,  jMr.  Coleridge  had  on  the  anvil  various  Books, 
especially  was  about  to  write  one  grand  Book  On  the 
Logos^  which  would  help  to  bridge  the  chasm  for  us.  So 
much  appeared,  however :  Churches,  though  proved  false 
(as  you  had  imagined.)  were  still  true  (as  you  were  to 
imagine :)  here  was  an  Artist  who  could  burn  you  up  an 
old  Church,  root  and  branch  ;  and  then  as  the  Alchymists 
professed  to  do  with  organic  substances  in  general,  distill 
youan  'Astral  Spirit'  from  the  ashes,  which  was  the  very 
image  of  the  old  burnt  article,  its  air-drawn  counterpart, — 
this  you  still  had,  or  might  get,  and  draw  uses  from,  if  you 
could.  Wait  till  the  Book  on  the  Logos  were  done  ; — alas, 
till  your  ov.n  terrene  eyes,  blind  with  conceit  and  the  dust 
of  logic  were  purged,  subtilized  and  spiritualized  into  the 
sharpness  of  vision  requisite  for  discerning  such  an  "  ouvm- 
mject."  The  ingenuous  young  English  head,  of  those 
days,  stood  strangely  puzzled  by  such  revelations;  uncer- 
tain whether  it  were  getting  inspired,  or  getting  infatuated 
into  flat  imbecility  ;  and  strange  effulgence,  of  new  day  or 
else  of  deeper  meteoric  night,  colored  the  horizon  of  the 
future  for  it. 

Let  liie  not  be  unjust  to  this  memorable  man.  Surely 
there  was  here,  in  his  pious,  ever  laboring,  subtle  mind,  a 
precious  truth,  or  prefigiirement  of  truth  ;  and  yet  a  fatal 
delusion  withal.  Prcfigurement  titat,  in  spite  of  beaver 
sciences  and  temporary  spiritual  hebetude  and  cecity,  man 
aT]d  his  Universe  were  eternally  divine  ;  and  that  no  past 
nobleness,  or  revelation  of  the  divine,  could  or  would  ever 
be  lost  to  him.    Most  true,  surely,  and  worthy  of  all  accept- 


82  JOHN     STERLING. 

ance.  Good  also  to  do  what  j^ou  can  with  old  Churches 
and  practical  Symbols  of  the  Noble ;  nay  quit  not  the 
burnt  ruins  of  them  whihs  you  find  there  is  still  gold  to 
be  dug  there.  But,  on  the  whole,  do  not  think  jou  can, 
by  logical  alchymy,  distill  astral  spirits  from  them ;  or  if 
you  could,  that  said  astral  spirits,  or  defunct  logical  phan- 
tasms, could  serve  you  in  any  thing.  What  the  light  of 
your  mind,  which  is  the  direct  inspiration  of  the  Almighty, 
pronounces  incredible, — that,  in  God's  name,  leave  uncred- 
ited  ;  at  your  peril  do  not  try  believing  that.  No  subtlest 
hocus-pocus  of  '  reason '  versus  '  understanding '  will  avail 
for  that  feat ; — and  it  is  terribly  perilous  to  try  it  in  these 
provinces ! 

The  truth  is,  I  now  see,  Coleridge's  talk  and  specula- 
tion was  the  emblem  of  himself:  in  it  as  in  him,  a  ray  of 
heavenly  inspiration  struggled,  in  a  tragically  ineffectual 
degree,  with  the  weakness  of  flesh  and  blood.  He  says 
once,  he  '  had  skirted  the  howling  deserts  of  Infidelity  ;' 
this  was  evident  enough  :  but  he  had  not  had  the  courage, 
in  defiance  of  pain  and  terror,  to  press  resolutely  across 
said  deserts  to  the  new  firm  lands  of  Faith  beyond :  he 
preferred  to  create  logical  fatamorganas  for  himself  on  this 
hither  side,  and  laboriously  solace  himself  with  these. 

To  the  man  himself  Nature  had  given,  in  high  measure, 
the  seeds  of  a  noble  endowment ;  and  to  unfold  it  had  been 
forbidden  him.  A  subtle  lynx-eyed  intellect,  tremulous 
pious  sensibility  to  all  good  and  all  beautiful  ;  truly  a  ray 
of  empyrean  light ; — but  imbedded  in  such  weak  laxity  of 
character,  in  such  indolences  and  esuriences  as  had  made 
strange  work  with  it.  Once  more,  the  tragic  story  of  a 
high  endowment  with  an  insufficient  will.     An  eye  to  dis- 


COLERIDGE.  83 

cern  the  divincness  of  the  Heaven's  splendors  and  light- 
nings, the  insatiable  wish  to  revel  in  their  godlike  radiances 
and  brilliances  ;  but  no  heart  to  front  the  scathing  terrors 
of  them,  which  is  the  first  condition  of  your  conquering  an 
abiding-place  there.  The  courage  necessary  for  him,  above 
all  things,  had  been  denied  this  man.  His  life,  with  such 
ray  of  the  empyrean  in  it,  was  great  and  terrible  to  him ; 
and  he  had  not  valiantly  grappled  with  it,  he  had  fled  from 
it ;  sought  refuge  in  vague  daydreams,  hollow  compromises, 
in  opium,  in  theosophic  metaphysics.  Harsh  pain,  danger, 
necessity,  slavish  harnessed  toil,  were  of  all  things  abhor- 
rent to  him.  And  so  the  empyrean  element,  lying  smoth- 
ered under  the  terrene,  and  yet  inextinguishable  there, 
made  sad  writhings.  For  pain,  danger,  difficulty,  steady 
slaving  toil,  and  other  highly  disagreeable  behests  of  des- 
tiny, shall  in  no  wise  be  shirked  by  any  brightest  mortal 
that  will  approve  himself  loyal  to  his  mission  in  this  world  ; 
nay  precisely  the  higher  he  is,  the  deeper  will  be  the  disa- 
greeableness,  and  the  detestability  to  flesh  and  blood,  of 
the  tasks  laid  on  him  ;  and  the  heavier,  too,  and  more  trag- 
ic, his  penalties  if  he  neglect  them. 

For  the  old  Eternal  Powers  do  live  forever ;  nor  do 
their  laws  know  any  change,  however  we  in  our  poor  w  igs 
and  church  tippets  may  attempt  to  read  their  laws.  To 
steal  into  Heaven, — by  the  modern  method,  of  sticking 
ostrich-like  your  head  into  fallacies  on  Earth,  equally  as  bj 
the  ancient  and  by  all  conceivable  methods, — is  forever 
forbidden.  High-treason  is  the  name  of  that  attempt ;  and 
it  continues  to  be  punished  as  such.  Strange  enough : 
here  once  more  was  a  kind  of  Heaven-scaling  Ixion  ;  and 
to  him,  as  to  the  old  one,  the  just  gods  were  very  stern  ! , 


84  JOHN    STERLING. 

The  ever-revolving,  never-advancing  Wheel  (of  a  kind) 
was  his,  through  life  ;  and  from  his  Cloud  Juno  did  not  he 
too  procreate  strange  Centaurs,  spectral  Pusejisms,  mon- 
strous illusory  Hybrids,  and  ecclesiastical  Chimeras, — 
which  now  roam  the  Earth  in  a  very  lamentable  manner  ! 


SPANISH    EXILES.  85 


CHAPTER    IX. 

SPANISH   EXILES. 

This  magical  ingvedient  thrown  into  the  wild  cauldron  of 
such  a  mind,  which  we  have  seen  occupied  hitherto  with 
mere  Ethnicisra,  Radicalism  and  revolutionary  tumult,  but 
hungering  all  along  for  something  higher  and  better,  was 
sure  to  be  eagerly  welcomed  and  imbibed,  and  could  not 
fail  to  produce  important  fermentations  there.  Fermenta- 
tions ;  important  new  directions,  and  withal  important  new 
perversions,  in  the  spiritual  life  of  this  man,  as  it  has  since 
done  in  the  lives  of  so  many.  Here  then  is  the  new  celes- 
tial manna  we  are  all  in  quest  of?  This  thrice-refined 
pabulum  of  transcendental  moonshine  ?  Whoso  eateth 
thereof, — yes,  what,  on  the  whole,  will  he  probably 
grow  to  ? 

Sterling  never  spoke  much  to  me  of  his  intercourse  with 
Coleridge  ;  and  when  he  did  compare  notes  about  him,  it 
was  usually  rather  in  the  way  of  controversial  discussion 
than  of  narrative.  So  that,  from  my  own  resources,  I  can 
give  no  details  of  the  business,  nor  specify  any  thing  in  it, 
except  the  general  fact  of  an  ardent  attendance  at  High- 
gate  "continued  for  many  months,  which  was  impressively 
known  to  all  Sterling's  friends ;  and  am  unable  to  assign 
even  the  limitary  dates,  Steiling's  own  pa[ers  on  the  sub- 
ject having  all  been  destroyed  by  him.  Inferences  point  to 
the  end  of  1828  as  the  beginning  of  this  intercourse ;  per- 
8 


86  JOHN    STERLING. 

haps  in  1829  it  was  at  the  highest  point;  and  already  in 
1830,  when  the  intercourse  itself  was  about  to  terminate, 
we  have  proof  of  the  influences  it  was  producing, — in  the 
Novel  of  Arthur  Coningsby,  then  on  hand,  the  first  and 
only  Book  that  Sterling  ever  wrote.  His  writings  hitherto 
had"  been  sketches,  criticisms,  brief  essays;  he  was  now 
trying  it  on  a  wider  scale  ;  but  not  yet  with  satisfactory  re- 
sults, and  it  proved  to  be  his  only  trial  in  that  form. 

He  had  already,  as  was  intimated,  given  up  his  brief 
proprietorship  of  the  Athenceiim ;  the  commercial  indica- 
tions, and  state  of  sales  and  of  costs,  peremptorily  ordering 
him  to  do  so  :  the  copyright  went  by  sale  or  gift,  I  know 
not  at  what  precise  date,  into  other  fitter  hands  ;  and  w-ith 
the  copyright  all  connection  on  the  part  of  Sterling.  To 
Athenoemn  Sketches  had  now  (in  1829-30)  succeeded 
Arthur  Coningshy,  a  Novel  in  three  volumes ;  indicating 
(when  it  came  to  light,  a  year  or  two  afterwards)  equally 
hasty  and  much  more  ambitious  aims  in  Literature ; — 
giving  strong  evidence,  too,  of  internal  spiritual  revulsions 
going  painfully  forward,  and  in  particular  of  the  impression 
Coleridge  was  producing  on  him.  Without  and  within,  it 
was  a  wild  tide  of  things  this  ardent  light  young  soul  was 
afloat  upon,  at  present ;  and  his  outlooks  into  the  future, 
whether  for  his  spiritual  or  economic  fortunes,  were  con- 
fused enough. 

Among  his  familiars  in  this  period,  I  might  have  men- 
tioned one  Charles  Barton,  formerly  his  fellow-student  at 
Cambridge,  now  an  amiable,  cheerful,  rather  idle  young 
fellow  about  Town  ;  who  led  the  way  into  certain  new  expe- 
riences, and  lighter  fields,  for  Sterling.     His  Father,  Lieut. 


SPANISH    EXILES.  87 

General  Barton  of  the  Lifeguards,  an  Irish  landlord,  I 
think  in  Fermanagh  County'-,  and  a  man  of  connections 
about  Court,  lived  in  a  certain  figure  here  in  Town ;  had  a 
wife  of  fashionable  habits,  -with  other  sons,  and  also  daugh- 
ters, bred  in  this  sphere.  These,  all  of  them,  were  amiable, 
elegant  and  pleasant  people  ; — such  was  especially  an  eld- 
est daughter,  Susannah  Barton,  a  stately  blooming  black- 
eyed  young  woman,  attractive  enough  in  form  and  charac- 
ter ;  full  of  gay  softness,  of  indolent  sense  and  enthusiasm  ; 
about  Sterling's  own  age,  if  not  a  little  older.  In  this 
house,  which  opened  to  him,  more  decisively  than  his 
Father's  a  new  stratum  of  society,  and  where  his  reception 
for  Charles's  sake  and  his  own  was  of  the  kindest,  he  liked 
very  well  to  be  ;  and  spent,  I  suppose,  many  of  his  vacant 
half-hours,  lightly  chatting  with  the  elders  or  the  youngsters, 
— doubtless  with  the  young  lady  too,  though  as  yet  without 
particular  intentions  on  either  side. 

Nor  with  all  the  Coleridge  fermentation,  was  democratic 
Radicalism  by  any  means  given  up  ; — though  how  it  was  to 
live  if  the  Coleridgean  moonshine  took  eifect,  might  have 
been  an  abstruse  question.  Hitherto,  while  said  moon- 
shine was  but  taking  effect,  and  coloring  the  outer  surface 
of  things  without  quite  penetrating  into  the  heart,  democrat- 
ic Liberalism,  revolt  against  superstition  and  oppression, 
and  help  to  whosoever  would  revolt,  was  still  the  grand 
element  in  Sterhng's  creed  ;  and  practically  he  stood,  not 
ready  only,  but  full  of  alacrity  to  fulfill  all  its  behests.  We 
heard  long  since  of  the  '  black  dragoons,' — whom  doubtless 
the  new  moonshine  had  considerably  silvered  over  into  new 
hues,  by  this  time : — but  here  now,  while  Radicalism  is 
tottering  for  him  and  threatening  to  crumble,  comes  sud- 


88  JOHN    STERLING. 

denlj  the  granrl  consummation  and  explosion  of  Radicalism 
in  his  life  ;  \\ hereby,  all  at  once,  Radicalism  exhausted  and 
ended  itself,  and  appeared  no  more  there. 

/ 

In  tho?e  years  a  visible  section  of  the  London  population, 

and  consj)icuous  out  of  all  proportion  to  its  size  or  value, 
was  a  small  knot  of  Spaniards,  who  had  sought  shelter  here 
as  Political  Refugees.  "  Political  Refugees :"  a  tragic 
succession  of  that  class  is  one  of  the  possessions  of  England 
in  our  time.  Six  and-twenty  years  ago,  when  I  fii'st  saw 
London,  I  remember  those  unfortunate  S[aniards  among 
the  new  phenomena.  Daily  in  the  cold  spring  air,  under 
skies  so  unlike  their  own,  you  conld  see  a  group  of  fifty  or 
a  hundred  stately  tragic  figures,  in  proud  threadbare 
cloaks  ;  perambulating  mostly  with  closed  lips,  the  broad 
pavements  of  Euston  Square  and  the  regions  about  St. 
Pancras  new  Church.  Their  lodging  was  chiefly  in  Somers 
Town,  as  I  understood  ;  and  those  open  pavements  about 
St.  Pancras  Church  were  the  general  place  of  rendezvous. 
They  spoke  little  or  no  English ;  knew  nobody,  could  em- 
ploy themselves  on  nothing,  in  this  new  scene.  Old  steel- 
gray  heads,  many  of  them  ;  the  shaggy,  thick,  blue-black 
hair  of  others  struck  you  ;  their  brown  complexion,  dusty 
look  of  suppressed  fire,  in  general  their  tragic  condition  as 
of  ca^ed  Numidian  lions. 

That  particular  Flight  of  Unfortunates  has  long  since 
fled  again,  and  vanished  ;  and  new  have  come  and  fled. 
Li  this  convulsed  revolutionary  epoch  which  already  lasts 
above  sixty  years,  what  tragic  flights  of  such  have  we  not 
seen  arrive  on  the  one  safe  coast  which  is  open  to  them,  as 
they  get  successively  vanquished,  and  chased  into  exile  to 


SPANISH    EXILES.  89 

avoid  worse  !  Swarm  after  swarm,  of  ever  new  complexion, 
from  Spain  as  from  other  countries,  is  thrown  oflF,  in  those 
ever-recurring  paroxysms ;  and  will  continue  to  be  thrown 
off.  As  there  could  be  (suggests  Linnaeus)  a  '  flower- 
clock,'  measuring  the  hours  of  the  day,  and  the  months  of 
the  3'ear,  by  the  kinds  of  flowers  that  go  to  sleep  and 
awaken,  that  blow  into  beauty  and  fade  into  dust :  so  in 
the  great  Revolutionary  Horologe,  one  might  mark  the 
years  and  epochs  by  the  successive  kinds  of  exiles  that 
walk  London  streets,  and,  in  grim  silent  manner,  demand 
pity  from  us  and  reflections  from  us.  This  then  extant 
group  of  Spanish  Exiles  was  the  Trocadero  swarm,  thrown 
off  in  1823,  in  the  Riego  and  Quirogas  quarrel.  These 
were  they  whom  Charles  Tenth  had,  by  sheer  force,  driven 
from  their  constitutionalisms  and  their  Trocadero  fortresses, 
— Charles  Tenth,  who  himself  was  soon  driven  out,  mani- 
foldly by  sheer  force  ;  and  had  to  head  his  own  swarm  of 
fugitives  ;  and  has  now  himself  quite  vanished,  and  given 
place  to  others.  For  there  is  no  end  of  them  ;  propelling 
and  propelled ! — 

Of  these  poor  Spanish  Exiles,  now  vegetating  about 
Somers  Town,  and  painfully  beating  the  pavement  in 
Euston  Square,  the  acknowledged  chief  was  General 
Torrijos,  a  man  of  high  qualities  and  fortunes,  still  in  the 
vigor  of  his  years,  and  in  these  desperate  circumstances 
refusing  to  despair  ;  with  whom  Sterling  had,  at  this  time, 
become  intimate. 


8* 


90  JOHN    STERLING. 


CHAPTER    X. 


TORRTJOS. 


ToRRTJOS,  who  had  now  in  1829  been  here  some-  four  or 
five  years,  having  come  over  in  1821,  had  from  the  first 
enjoyed  a  superior  reception  in  England.  Possessing  not 
only  a  language  to  speak,  Avhich  few  of  the  others  did,  but 
manifold  experiences  courtly,  military,  diplomatic,  with  fine 
natural  faculties,  and  high  Spanish  manners  tempered  into 
cosmopolitan,  he  had  been  welcomed  in  various  circles  of 
society  ;  and  found,  perhaps  he  alone  of  those  Spaniards,  a 
certain  human  companionship  among  persons  of  some 
standing  in  this  country.  With  the  elder  Sterlings,  among 
others,  he  had  made  acquaintance  ;  became  familiar  in  the 
social  circle  at  South  Place,  and  was  much  esteemed  there. 
With  Madam  Torrijos,  who  also  was  a  person  of  amiable 
,  and  distinguished  qualities,  an  affectionate  friendship  grew 
up  on  the  part  of  Mrs.  Sterling,  which  ended  only  with  the 
death  of  these  two  ladies.  John  Sterling,  on  arriving  in 
London  from  his  University  work,  naturally  inherited  what 
he  liked  to  take  up  of  this  relation :  and  in  the  lodgings  in 
Regent  Street,  and  the  democratico  literary  element  there, 
Torrijos  became  a  very  prominent,  and  at  length  almost  the 
central  object. 

The  man  himself,  it  is  well  known,  was  a  valiant  gallant 
man  ;  of  lively  intellect,  of  noble  chivalrous  character : 
fine  talents,  fine  accomplishments,  all  grounding  themselvesj 


TORRTJOS,  91 

on  a  certain  rugged  veracity,  recommended  him  to  the 
discerning.  He  had  begun  youth  in  the  Court  of  Ferdi- 
nand ;  had  gone  on  in  Wellington  and  other  arduous, 
victorious  and  unvictorious,  soldTerings  ;  familiar  in  camps 
and  council-rooms,  in  presence-chambers  and  in  prisons. 
He  knew  romantic  Spain  ; — he  was  himself,  standing  withal 
in  the  vanguard  of  Freedom's  fight,  a  kind  of  living  romance. 
Infinitely  interesting  to  John  Sterling,  for  one. 

It  was  to  Torrijos  that  the  poor  Spaniards  of  Somers 
Town  looked  mainly,  in  their  helplessness,  for  every  species 
of  help.  Torrijos,  it  was  hoped,  would  yet  lead  them  into 
Spain  and  glorious  victory  there  ;  meanwhile  here  in  Eng- 
land, under, defeat,  he  was  their  captain  and  sovereign  in 
another  painfully  inverse  sense.  To  whom,  in  extremity, 
everybody  might  apply.  When  all  present  resources  failed, 
and  the  exchequer  was  quite  out,  there  still  remained  Tor- 
rijos. Torrijos  has  to  find  new  resources  for  his  destitute 
patriots,  find  loans,  find  Spanish  lessons  for  them  am.ong  his 
English  friends  :  in  all  which  charitable  operations,  it  need 
not  be  said  John  Sterling  was  his  foremost  man  ;  zealous  to 
empty  his  own  purse  for  the  object ;  impetuous  in  rushing 
hither  or  thither  to  enlist  the  aid  of  others,  and  find  lessons 
or  something  that  would  do.  His  friends,  of  course,  had 
to  assist ;  the  Bartons,  among  others,  were  wont  to  assist ; — 
and  I  have  heard  that  the  fair  Susan,  stirring  up  her  indo- 
lent enthusiasm  into  practicality,  was  very  successful  in 
finding  Spanish  lessons,  and  the  like,  for  these  distressed 
men.  Sterling  and  his  friends  were  yet  new  in  this  busi- 
ness ;  but  Torrijos  and  the  others  were  getting  old  in  it, — 
and  doubtless  weary  and  almost  desperate  of  it.     They  had 


92  JOHN     STERLING. 

now  been  seven  years  in  it,  many  of  them ;  and  were  ask- 
ing, When  will  the  end  be  ? 

Torrijos  is  described  as  a  man  of  excellent  discernment : 
who  knows  how  long  he  had  repressed  the  unreasonable 
schemes  of  his  followers,  and  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  the 
temptings  of  fallacious  hope  ?  But  there  comes  at  length  a 
sum  total  of  oppressive  burdens  which  is  intolerable,  which 
tempts  the  wisest  towards  fallacies  for  relief.  These  weary 
groups,  pacing  the  Euston  Square  pavement,  had  often  said 
in  their  despair,  "  Were  not  death  in  battle  better  ?  Here 
are  we  slowly  mouldering  into  nothingness ;  there  we 
might  reach  it  rapidly,  in  flaming  splendor.  Flame,  either 
of  victory  to  Spain  and  us,  or  of  a  patriot  death,  the  sure 
harbinger  of  victory  to  Spain.  Flame  fit  to  kindle  a  fire 
which  no  Ferdinand,  with  all  his  Inquisitions  and  Charles- 
Tenths,  could  put  out."  Enough,  in  the  end  of  1829, 
Torrijos  himself  had  yielded  to  this  pressure ;  and  hoping 
against  hope,  persuaded  himself  that  if  he  could  but  land  in 
the  South  of  Spain  with  a  small  patriot  band  well  armed 
and  well  resolved,  a  band  carrying  fire  in  its  heart, — then 
Spain,  all  inflammable  as  touchwood,  and  groaning  indig- 
nantly under  its  brutal  tyrant,  might  blaze  wholly  into 
flame  round  him,  and  incalculable  victory  be  won.  Such 
was  his  conclusion ;  not  sudden,  yet  surely  not  deliberate 
either, — desperate  rather,  and  forced  on  by  circumstances. 
He  thought  with  himself  that,  considering  Somers  Town 
and  considering  Spain,  the  terrible  chance  was  worth  try- 
ing ;  that  this  big  game  of  Fate,  go  how  it  might,  was  one 
which  the  omens  credibly  declared  he  and  these  poor  Span- 
iards ought  to  play. 

His  whole  industries  and  energies  were  thereupon  bent 


TORRIJOS.  93 

towards  startino;  the  said  ";ame ;  and  his  thouiiht  and  con- 
tinual  speech  and  song  now  was,  That  if  he  had  a  few 
thousand  pounds  to  buy  arms,  to  freight  a  ship  and  make 
the  other  preparations,  he  and  these  poor  gentlemen,  and 
Spain  and  the  world,  were  made  men  and  a  saved  Spain 
and  world.  What  talks  and  consultations  in  the  apartment 
in  Regent  Street,  during  those  winter  days  of  1829-30  ; 
setting  into  open  conflagration  the  3'oung  democracy  that 
was  wont  to  assemble  there  !  Of  which  there  is  now  left 
next  to  no  remembrance.  For  Sterling  never  spoke  a  word 
of  this  affair  in  after  days,  nor  Avas  any  of  thi^  actors  much 
tempted  to  speak.  We  can  understand  too  well  tliat  here 
were  voun^jr  fervid  hearts  in  an  exi)losive  condition  ;  voun"i; 
rash  heads,  sanctioned  by  a  man's  experienced  head.  Here 
at  last  shall  enthusiasm  and  theory  become  practice  and 
fact ;  fiery  dreams  are  at  last  permitted  to  realize  them- 
selves ;  and  now  is  the  time  or  never ! — How  the  Coleridge 
moonshine  comported  itself  amid  these  hot  telluric  flames, 
or  whether  it  had  not  yet  begun  to  play  theie  (which  I 
rather  doubt),  must  be  left  to  conjecture. 

Mr.  Hare  speaks  of  Sterling  '  sailing  over  to  St.  Valery 
in  an  open  boat  along  with  others,'  upon  one  occasion,  in 
this  enterprise  ; — in  the  final  English  scene  of  it,  I  sup- 
pose. Which  is  very  possible.  Unquestionably  there  was 
adventure  enough  of  other  kinds  for  it,  and  running  to  and 
fro  with  all  his  speed  on  behalf  of  it,  during  these  months 
of  his  history !  Money  was  subscribed,  collected  :  the 
young  Cambridge  democrats  were  all  a-blaze  to  assist 
Torrijns  ;  nay  certain  of  them  decided  to  go  with  him, — 
and  went.  Only,  as  yet,  the  funds  were  rather  incom- 
plete.    And  here,  as  I  learn  from  a  good  hand,  is  the 


94  JOHN    STERLING. 

secret  historj  of  their  becoming  complete.  Which,  as  we 
are  upon  the  subject,  I  had  better  give.  But  for  the 
following  circumstance,  they  had  perhaps  never  been  com- 
pleted ;  nor  had  the  rash  enterprise,  or  its  catastrophe, 
so  influential  on  the  rest  of  Sterling's  life,  taken  place 
at  all. 

A  certain  Lieutenant  Robert  Bojd,  of  the  Irtdian  Army, 
an  Ulster  Irishman,  a  cousin  of  Sterling's,  had  received 
some  affront,  or  otherwise  taken  some  disgust  in  that  ser- 
vice ;  had  thrown  up  his  commission  in  consequence  ;  and 
returned  home,  about  this  time,  with  intent  to  seek  another 
course  of  life.  Having  only,  for  outfit,  these  impatient 
ardors,  some  experience  in  Indian  drill-exercise,  and  five 
thousand  pounds  of  inheritance,  he  found  the  enterprise 
attended  with  difSculties  ;  and  was  somewhat  at  a  loss  how 
to  dispose  of  himself.  Some  young  Ulster  comrade,  in  a 
partly  similar  situation,  had  pointed  out  to  him  that  there 
lay  in  a  certain  neighboring  creek  of  the  Irish  coast,  a 
worn-out  royal  gun-brig  condemned  to  sale,  to  be  had  dog- 
cheap  :  this  he  proposed  that  they  two,  or  in  fact  Boyd  with 
bis  five  thousand  pounds,  should  buy ;  that  they  should 
refit  and  arm  and  man  it ; — and  sail  a-privateering  "  to  the 
Eastern  Archipelago,"  Philippine  Isles,  or  I  know  not 
where  ;  and  so  conquer  the  golden  fleece. 

Boyd  naturally  paused  a  little  at  this  great  proposal ; 
did  not  quite  reject  it ;  came  across,  with  it  and  other  fine 
projects  and  impatiences  fermenting  in  his  head,  to  London, 
there  to  see  and  consider.  It  was  in  the  months  when  the 
Torrijos  enterprise  was  in  the  birth-throes  ;  crying  wildly 
for  capital,  of  all  things.     Boyd  naturally  spoke  of  his  pro- 


TORRIJOS.  95 

jects  to  Sterling, — of  his  gun-brig  lying  in  the  Irish  creek, 
among  others.  Sterling  naturally  said,  "  If  you  want  an 
adventure  of  the  Seaking  sort,  and  propose  to  lay  your 
money  and  your  life  into  such  a  game,  here  is  Torrijos  and 
Spain  at  his  back ;  here  is  a  golden  fleece  to  conquer, 
worth  twenty  Eastern  Archipelagos." — Boyd  and  Torrijos 
quickly  met ;  quickly  bargained.  Boyd's  money  was  to 
go  in  purchasing,  and  storing  with  a  certain  stock  of  arms 
and  etceteras,  a  small  ship  in  the  Thames,  which  should 
carry  Boyd  with  Torrijos  and  the  adventurers  to  the  south 
coast  of  Spain  ;  and  there,  the  game  once  played  and  won, 
Boyd  was  to  have  promotion  enough, — '  the  colonelcy  of  a 
Spanish  cavalry  regiment,'  for  one  express  thing.  What 
exact  share  Sterling  had  in  this  negotiation,  or  whether  he 
did  not  even  take  the  prudent  side  and  caution  Boyd  to  be 
wary,  I  know  not ;  but  it  was  he  that  brought  the  parties 
together  ;  and  all  his  friends  knew,  in  silence,  that  to  the 
end  of  his  life  he  painfully  remembered  that  fact. 

And  so  a  ship  was  hired,  or  purchased,  in  the  Thames; 
due  furnishings  began  to  be  executed  in  it ;  arms  and 
stores  were  gradually  got  on  board ;  Torrijos  with  his  Fifty 
picked  Spaniards,  in  the  meanwhile,  getting  ready.  This 
was  in  the  spring  of  1830.  Boyd's  50001,  was  the  grand 
nucleus  of  finance :  but  vigorous  subscription  was  carried 
on  likewise  in  Sterling's  young  democratic  circle,  or  wher- 
ever a  member  of  it  could  find  access ;  not  without  consid- 
erable result,  and  with  a  zeal  that  may  be  imagined.  Nay, 
as  above  hinted,  certain  of  these  young  men  decided,  not 
to  give  their  money  only,  but  themselves  along  with  it,  as 
democratic  volunteers  and  soldiers  of  progress ;  among 
whom,  it  need  not  be  said.  Sterling  intended  to  be  foremost. 


96  JOHN    STERLING. 

Busy  weeks  with  him,  those  spring  ones  of  the  year  1830 ! 
Through  this  small  Note,  accidentally  preserved  to  us,  ad- 
dressed to  his  friend  Burton,  we  obtain  a  curious  glance 
into  the  subterranean  workshop: 

'  To  Charles  Barton^  Esq.,  Dorset  Sq.,  BegenVs  Park. 

[No  date  ;  apparently  March  or  February,  1830.] 

'My  Dear  Charles, — I  have  wanted  to  see  you  to  talk 
to  you  about  my  Foreign  affairs.  If  you  are  going  to  be  in 
London  for  a  few  days,  I  believe  you  can  be  very  useful  to 
me  at  a  considerable  expense  and  trouble  to  yourself,  in  the 
way  of  buying  accoutrements  ;  inter  alia.,  a  sword  and  a 
saddle, — not,  you  will  understand,  for  my  own  use. 

'  Things  are  going  on  very  well,  but  are  very,  even 
frightfully  near ;  only  be  quiet !  Pray  would  you,  in  case 
of  necessity,  take  a  free  passage  to  Holland,  next  week  or 
the  week  after ;  stay  two  or  three  days,  and   come  back, 

all  expenses  paid  ?     If  you  write  to  B at  Cambridge, 

tell  him  above  all  things  to  hold  his  tongue.  If  you  are 
near  Palace  Yard  tomorrow  before  two,  pray  come  to  see 
me.  Do  not  come  on  purpose  ;  especially  as  I  may  per- 
haps be  away,  and  at  all  events  shall  not  be  there  until 
eleven,  nor  perhaps  till  rather  later. 

'  I  fear  I  shall  have  alarmed  your  Mother  by  my  irrup- 
tion. Forgive  me  for  that  and  all  my  exactions  from  you. 
If  the  next  month  were  over,  I  should  not  have  to  trouble 
any  one. — Yours  aifectionately, 

J.  Sterling.' 


TORRIJOS.  97 

Busy  weeks  indeed  ;  and  a  glowing  smitliy-light  coming 
through  the  chinks  ! — The  romance  of  Arthur  Coningshy 
lay  written,  or  half-wiitten,  in  his  desk  ;  and  here,  in  his 
heart  and  among  his  hands,  was  an  acted  romance  and  un- 
known catastroj)hes  keeping  pace  with  that. 

Doubts  from  the  doctors,  for  his  health  was  getting  omi- 
nous, threw  some  shade  over  the  adventure.  Reproachful 
reminiscences  of  Coleridge  and  Theosophy  were  natural 
too  ;  then  fond  regrets  for  Literature  and  its  glories  :  if 
you  act  your  romance,  how  can  you  also  write  it  ?  Re- 
grets, and  reproachful  reminiscences,  from  Art  and  Theos- 
ophy ;  perhaps  some  tenderer  regrets  withal.  A  crisis  in 
life  had  come  ;  when,  of  innumerable  possibilities  one  possi- 
bility was  to  be  elected  king,  and  to  swallow  all  the  rest, 
the  rest  of  course  made  noise  enough,  and  swelled  them- 
selves to  their  bi^ii;est.  • 

Meanwhile  the  ship  was  fast  getting  ready :  on  a  certain 
day,  it  was  to  drop  quietly  down  the  Thames  ;  then  touch 
at  Deal,  and  take  on  board  Torrijos  and  his  adventurers, 
who  were  to  be  in  waiting  and  on  the  outlook  for  them 
there.  Let  every  man  lay  in  his  accoutrements,  then  ;  let 
every  man  make  his  packages,  his  arrangements  and  f\i re- 
wells.  Sterling  went  to  take  leave  of  Miss  Barton.  "  You 
are  going,  then  ;  to  Spain  ?  To  rough  it  amid  the  storms 
of  war  and  perilous  insurrection  ;  and  with  that  weak 
health  of  yours  ;  and — we  shall  never  see  you  more,  then  ?" 
Miss  Barton,  all  her  gayety  gone,  the  dimpling  softness  be- 
come liquid  sorrow  and  the  musical  ringing  voice  ojie  wail 
of  woe,  '  burst  into  tears,' — so  I  have  it  on  authoiity  : — 
here  was  one  possibility  about  to  be  strangled  that  made 
9 


98  JOHN    STERLING. 

unexpected  noise  !  Sterling's  interview  ended  in  the  ofifer 
of  his  hand,  and  the  acceptance  of  it ; — any  sacrifice  to  get 
rid  of  this  horrid  Spanish  business,  and  save  the  health  and 
life  of  a  gifted  young  man  so  precious  to  the  world  and  to 
another ! 

'  111  health,'  as  often  afterwards  in  Sterling's  life,  when 
the  excuse  was  real  enough  but  not  the  chief  excuse  ;  '  ill 
health,  and  insuperable  obstacles  and  engagements,'  had  to 
bear  the  chief  brunt  in  apologizing  :  and,  as  Sterling's 
actual  presence,  or  that  of  any  Englishman  except  Boyd 
and  his  money,  Avas  not  in  the  least  vital  to  the  adventure, 
his  excuse  was  at  once  accepted.  The  English  connections 
and  subscriptions  are  a  given  fact,  to  be  presided  over  by 
what  English  volunteers  there  are :  and  as  for  Englishmen, 
the  fewer  Englishmen  that  go,  the  larger  will  be  the  share 
of  influence  for  each.  The  other  adventurers,  Torrijos 
among  them  in  due  readiness,  moved  silently  one  by  one 
down  to  Deal :  Sterling,  superintending  the  naval  hands, 
on  board  their  ship  in  the  Thames,  was  to  see  the  last  finish 
given  to  every  thing  in  that  department ;  then,  on  the  set 
evening,  to  drop  down  quietly  to  Deal,  and  there  say 
Andate  con  Dios,  and  return. 

Behold  !  Just  before  the  set  evening  came,  the  Spanish 
Envoy  at  this  Court  has  got  notice  of  what  is  going  on  :  the 
Spanish  Envoy,  and  of  course  the  British  Foreign  Secre- 
tary, and  of  course  also  the  Thames  Police.  Armed  men 
spring  suddenly  on  board,  one  day,  while  Sterling  is  there  ; 
declare  the  ship  seized  and  embargoed  in  the  King's  name ; 
nobody  on  board  to  stir,  till  he  has  given  some  account  of 
himself  in  due  time  and  place  !  Huge  consternation,  natu- 
rally, from  stem  to  stern.      Sterling,  whose  presence  of 


TORRIJOS.  99 

mind  seldom  forsook  him,  casts  his  eye  over  the  River  and 
its  craft ;  sees  a  wherrj,  privately  signals  it,  drops  rapidly 
on  board  of  it:  "Stop!"  fiercely  interjects  the  marine 
policeman  from  the  ship's  deck. — "  Why  stop  ?  What  use 
have  you  for  me,  or  I  for  you  ?"  and  the  oars  begin  play- 
ing.— "  Stop,  or  I'll  shoot  you  !"  cries  the  marine  police-" 
man,  drawing  a  pistol. — "  No,  you  won't." — "  I  will !" — 
"  If  you  do,  you'll  be  hanged  at  the  next  Maidstone  assizes, 
then  ;  that's  all," — and  Sterling's  wherry  shot  rapidly 
ashore  ;  and  out  of  this  perilous  adventure. 

That  same  night  he  posted  down  to  Deal ;  disclosed  to 
the  Torrijos  party  what  catastrophe  had  come.  No  passage 
Spain-ward  from  the  Thames;  well  if  arrestment  do  not 
suddenly  come  from  the  Thames  !  It  was  on  this  occasion, 
I  suppose,  that  the  passage  in  the  open  boat  to  St.  Valery 
occurred ; — speedy  flight  in  what  boat  or  boats,  open  or 
shut,  could  be  got  at  Deal  on  the  sudden.  Sterling  himself, 
according  to  Hare's  authority,  actually  went  with  them  so 
far.  Enough,  they  got  shipping,  as  private  passengers  in 
one  craft  or  the  other  ;  and,  by  degrees  or  at  once,  arrived 
all  at  Gibralter, — Boyd,  one  or  two  young  democrats  of 
Regent  Street,  the  fifty  picked  Spaniards,  and  Torrijos, — 
safe,  though  without  arms ;  still  in  the  early  part  of  the 
year. 


100  JOHN    STERLING. 


CHAPTER    XI. 

MARRIAGE  :    ILL-HEALTH  ;    WEST-INDIES. 

Sterling's  outlooks  and  occupations,  now  that  his  Spanish 
friends  were  gone,  must  have  been  of  a  rather  miscellaneous 
confused  description,  lie  had  the  enterprise  of  a  married 
life  close  before  him  ;  and  as  yet  no  profession,  no  fixed 
pursuit  whatever.  His  health  was  already  very  threaten- 
ing ;  often  such  as  to  disable  him  from  present  activity, 
ar\d  occasion  the  gravest  apprehensions ;  practically  block- 
ing up  all  important  c  urses  whatsoever,  and  rendering  the 
future,  if  even  life  were  lengthened  and  he  had  any  future, 
an  insolubility  for  him.  Parliament  was  shut,  public  life 
was  shut :  Literature,— if,  alas,  any  solid  fruit  could  lie  in 
Literature ! 

Or  perhaps  one's  health  would  mend,  after  all  ;  and 
many  things  be  better  than  was  hoped  !  Sterling  was  not 
of  a  despondent  temper,  or  given  in  any  measure  to  lie 
down  and  indolently  moan  :  I  fancy  he  walked  briskly 
enough  into  this  tempestuous-looking  future  ;  not  heeding 
too  n)uch  its  thunderous  aspects  ;  doing  swiftly,  for  the  day, 
what  his  hand  found  to  do.  Arthur  Coning-sbi/,  I  suppose, 
lav  on  the  anvil  at  present  ;  visits  to  Coleridge  were  now 
again  more  possible  :  grand  news  from  Torrijos  might  be 
looked  for,  thongli  only  small  yet  came  :— nay  here,  in  the 
hot  July,  is  France,  at  lenst,  all  thrown  into  volcano  again  ! 
Here  are  the  miraculous  Three  Days  ;  heralding,  in  thun- 


MARRIAGE  :     ILL-HEALTH.  101 

der,  great  things  to  Torrijos  and  others  ;  filling  with  bab- 
blement and  vaticination  the  mouths  and  hearts  of  all 
democratic  men. 

So  rolled  along,  in  tumult  of  chaotic  remembrance  and 
uncertain  hope,  in  manifold  emotion,  and  the  confused 
struggle  (for  Sterling  as  for  the  -world)  to  extricate  the 
New  from  the  falling  ruins  of  the  Old,  the  summer  and 
autumn  of  1830.  From  Gibralter  and  Torrijos,  the  tidings 
were  vague,  unimportant  and  discouraging:  attempt  on 
Cadiz,  attempt  on  the  lines  of  St.  Roch,  those  attempts,  or 
rather  resolutions  to  attempt,  had  died  in  the  birth,  or 
almost  before  it.  Men  blamed  Torrijos,  little  knowing  his 
impediments.  Bojd  was  still  patient  at  his  post ;  others  of 
the  young  English  (on  the  strength  of  the  subscribed  mon- 
eys) were  said  to  be  thinking  of  tours, — perhaps  in  the 
Sierra  Morena  and  neighboring  Quixote  regions.  From 
that  Torrijos  enterprise  it  did  not  seem  that  any  thing  con- 
siderable would  come. 

On  the  edge  of  winter,  here  at  home,  Sterling  was  mar- 
ried :  '  at  Christchurch,  Marylebone,  2d  November  1830,' 
say  the  records.  His  blooming,  kindly  and  true-hearted 
Wife  had  not  much  money,  nor  had  he  as  yet  any :  but 
friends  on  both  sides  were  bountiful  and  hopeful ;  had  made 
up,  for  the  young  couple,  the  foundations  of  a  modestly 
effective  household ;  and  in  the  future  there  lay  more  sub- 
stantial prospects.  On  the  finance  side  Sterling  never  had 
any  thing  to  suffer.  His  Wife,  though  somewhat  languid, 
and  of  indolent  humor,  was  a  graceful,  pious-minded,  honor- 
able and  affectionate  woman ;  she  could  not  much  support 

him  in  the  ever-shifting  struggles  of  his  life,  but  she  faith- 
9* 


102  JOHN    STERLING. 

fully  attended  him  in  them,  and  lojallj  marched  by  his  side 
through  the  changes  and  nomadic  pilgrimings,  of  which 
many  were  appointed  him  in  his  short  course. 
•  Unhappily  a  few  weeks  after  his  marriage,  and  before 
any  household  was  yet  set  up,  he  fell  dangerously  ill  ;  worse 
in  health  than  he  had  ever  yet  been  :  so  many  agitations 
crowded  into  the  last  few  months  had  been  too  much  for 
him.  He  fell  into  dangerous  pulmonary  illness,  sank  ever 
deeper  ;  lay  for  many  weeks  in  his  Father's  house  utterly 
prostrate,  his  young  Wife  and  his  Mother  watching  over 
him  ;  friends,  sparingly  admitted,  long  despairing  of  his 
life.  All  prospects  in  this  world  were  now  apparently  shut 
upon  him. 

After  a  while,  came  hope  again,  and  kindlier  symptoms  : 
but  the  doctors  intimated  that  there  lay  consumption  in  the 
question,  and  that  perfect  recovery  was  not  to  be  looked 
for.  For  weeks  he  had  been  confined  to  bed  ;  it  was  sev- 
eral months  before  he  could  leave  his  sick-room,  where  the 
visits  of  a  few  friends  had  much  cheered  him.  And  now 
when  delivered,  readmitted  to  the  air  of  day  again, — weak 
as  he  was,  and  with  such  a  liability  still  lurking  in  him, — 
what  his  young  partner  and  he  were  to  do,  or  whitherward 
to  turn  for  a  good  course  of  life,  was  by  no  means  too  ap- 
parent. 

One  of  his  Mother  Mrs.  Edward  Sterling's  Uncles,  a 
Conyngham  from  Derry,  had,  in  the  course  of  his  indus- 
trious and  adventurous  life,  realized  large  property  in  the 
West  Indies, — a  valuable  Sugar-estate,  with  its  equipments, 
in  the  Island  of  St.  Vincent ; — from  which  Mrs.   Sterling 


WEST    INDIES.  103 

and  her  family  were  now,  and  had  been  for  some  years 
before  her  Uncle's  decease,  deriving  important  benefits.  I 
have  heard,  it  was  then  worth  some  ten  thousand  pounds  a 
year  to  the  parties  interested.  Anthony  Sterhng,  John, 
and  another  a  cousin  of  theirs  were  ultimately  to  be  heirs, 
in  equal  proportions.  The  old  gentleman,  always  kind  to 
his  kindred,  and  a  brave  and  solid  man  though  somewhat 
abrupt  in  his  ways,  had  lately  died  ;  leaving  a  settlement 
to  this  effect,  not  without  some  intricacies,  and  almost  ca- 
prices, in  the  conditions  attached. 

This  property,  which  is  still  a  valuable  one,  was  Ster- 
ling's chief  pecuniary  outlook  for  the  distant  future.  Of 
course  it  well  deserved  taking  care  of ;  and  if  the  eye  of 
the  master  were  upon  it,  of  course  too  (according  to  the 
adage)  the  cattle  would  fatten  better.  As  the  warm  cli- 
mate was  favorable  to  pulmonary  complaints,  and  Sterling's 
occupations  were  so  shattered  to  ])ieces  and  his  outlooks 
here  so  waste  and  vague,  why  should  not  he  undertake  this 
duty  for  himself  and  others  ? 

It  was  fixed  upon  as  the  eligiblcst  course.  A  visit  to 
St.  Vincent,  perhaps  a  permanent  residence  there  :  he 
went  into  the  project  with  his  customary  impetuosity  ;  his 
young  Wife  cheerfully  consenting,  and  all  manner  of  new 
hopes  clustering  round  it.  There  are  the  rich  tropical 
sceneries,  the  romance  of  the  torrid  zone  with  its  new  skies 
and  seas  and  lands :  there  are  Blacks,  and  the  Slavery 
question  to  be  investigated  ;  there  are  the  bronzed  Whites 
and  Yellows,  and  their  strange  new  way  of  life :  by  all 
means  let  us  go  and  try  ! — Arrangements  being  completed, 
so  soon  as  his  strength  had  suflBciently  recovered,  and  the 


104  JOHN    STERLING. 

harsh  spring  winds  had  sufficiently  abated,  Sterling  with 
his  small  household  set  sail  for  St.  Vincent ;  and  arrived 
without  accident.  His  first  child,  a  son  Edward,  now  liv- 
ing and  grown  to  manhood,  was  born  there,  '  at  Brighton 
in  the  Island  of  St.  Vincent,'  in  the  fall  of  that  year, 
1831. 


ISLAND    OF    ST.    VINCENT.  105 


CHAPTER    XII. 


ISLAND    OF    ST.     VINCENT. 


Sterling  found  a  pleasant  residence,  with  all  its  adjuncts, 
ready  for  him,  at  Colonarie,  in  this  '  volcanic  Isle '  under 
the  hot  sun.  An  interesting  Isle  :  a  place  of  rugged 
chasms,  precipitous  gnarled  heights,  and  the  most  fruitful 
hollows  ;  shaggy  everywhere  with  luxuriant  vegetation ; 
set  under  magnificent  skies,  in  the  mirror  of  the  summer 
seas  ;  offering  everywhere  the  grandest  sudden  outlooks 
and  contrasts.  His  letters  represent  a  placidly  cheerful 
riding  life  ;  a  pensive  humor,  but  the  thunderclouds  all 
sleeping  in  tlie  distance.  Good  relations  with  a  few  neigh- 
boring yjlanters ;  indifference  to  the  noisy  political  and 
other  agitations  of  the  rest:  friendly,  by  no  means  romantic 
appreciation  of  the  Blacks ;  quiet  prosperity  economic  and 
domestic  :  on  the  whole  a  healthy  and  recommendable  way 
of  life,  with  Literature  very  much  in  abeyance  in  it. 

He  writes  to  Mr.  Hare  (date  not  given)  :  '  The  land- 
scapes around  me  here  are  noble  and  lovely  as  any  that 
can  be  conceived  on  Earth.  How  indeed  could  it  be 
otherwise,  in  a  small  Island  of  volcanic  mountains,  far 
within  the  Tropics,  and  perpetually  covered  with  the 
richest  vegetation  V  The  moral  aspect  of  things  is  by  no 
means  so  jiood  ;  but  neither  is  that  without  its  fair  features. 
'  So  far  as  I  see,  the  Slaves  here  are  cunning,  deceitful 


106  JOHN    STERLING. 

and  idle  ;  without  any  great  aptitude  for  ferocious  crimes, 
and  with  very  little  scruple  at  committing  others.  But  I 
have  seen  them  much  only  in  very  favorable  circumstances. 
They  are,  as  a  body,  decidedly  unfit  for  freedom ;  and  if 
left,  as  at  present,  completely  in  the  hands  of  their  masters, 
will  never  become  so,  unless  through  the  agency  of  the 
Methodists.'* 

In  the  Autumn  came  an  immense  hurricane  ;  with  new 
and  indeed  quite  perilous  experiences  of  West-Indian  life. 
This  hasty  Letter,  addressed  to  his  Mother,  is  not  intrin- 
sically his  remarkablest  from  St.  Vincent :  but  the  body  of 
fact  delineated  in  it  being  so  much  the  greatest,  we  will 
quote  it  in  preference.  A  West-Indian  tornado,  as  John 
Sterling  witnesses  it,  and  with  vivid  authenticity  describes 
it,  may  be  considered  worth  looking  at. 

'  To  Mrs.  Sterling,  South  Place,  Knightshridge,  London. 

'Brighton,  St.  Vincent,  August  28,  1831. 

'  My  dear  Mother, — The  packet  came  in  yesterday ; 
bringing  me  some  Newspapers,  a  Letter  from  my  Father, 
and  one  from  Anthony,  with  a  few  lines  from  you.  I 
wrote,  some  days  ago,  a  hasty  Note  to  my  Father,  on  the 
chance  of  its  reaching  you  through  Grenada  sooner  than 
any  communication  by  the  packet ;  and  in  it  I  spoke  of  the 
great  misfortune  which  had  befallen  this  Island  and  Barba- 
does,  but  from  which  all  those  you  take  an  interest  in  have 
happily  escaped  unhurt. 

'  From  the  day  of  our  arrival  in  the  West  Indies  until 
Thursday  the  11th  instant,  which  will  long  be  a  memorable 

*  Biography  (by  Mr.  Hare),  p.  xH. 


ISLAND    OF   ST.    VINCENT.  107 

day  with  us,  I  had  been  doing  my  best  to  get  ourselves 
established  comfortably  ;  and  I  had  at  last  bought  the 
materials  for  making  some  additions  to  the  house.  But  on 
the  morning  I  have  mentioned,  all  that  I  had  exerted  my- 
self to  do,  nearly  all  the  property  both  of  Susan  and  myself, 
and  the  very  house  we  lived  in,  were  suddenly  destroyed 
by  a  visitation  of  Providence  far  more  terrible  than  any  I 
have  ever  witnessed. 

'  When  Susan  came  from  her  room,  to  breakfast,  at  eight 
o'clock,  I  pointed  out  to  her  the  extraordinary  height  and 
violence  of  the  surf,  and  the  singular  appearance  of  the 
clouds  of  heavy  rain  sweeping  down  the  valleys  before  us. 
At  this  time  I  had  so  little  apprehension  of  what  was 
coming,  that  I  talked  of  riding  down  to  the  shore  when  the 
storm  should  abate,  as  I  had  never  seen  so  fierce  a  sea. 
In  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  House  Negroes  came  in, 
to  close  the  outside  shutters  of  the  windows.  They  knew 
that  the  plaintain-trees  about  the  .  Negro  houses  had  been 
blown  down  in  the  night ;  and  had  told  the  maid-servant 
Tyrrell,  but  I  had  heard  nothing  of  it.  A  very  few 
minutes  after  the  closing  of  the  windows,  I  found  that  the 
shutters  of  Tyrrell's  room,  at  the  south  and  commonly  the 
most  sheltered  end  of  the  House,  were  giving  away.  I 
tried  to  tie  them  ;  but  the  silk  handkerchief  which  I  used 
soon  gave  way  ;  and  as  I  had  neither  hammer,  boards  nor 
nails  in  the  house,  I  could  do  nothing  more  to  keep  out  the 
tempest.  I  found,  in  pushing  at  the  leaf  of  the  shutter, 
that  the  wind  resisted,  more  as  if  it  had  been  a  stone  wall 
or  a  mass  of  iron,  than  a  mere  current  of  air.  There  were 
one  or  two  people  outside  trying  to  fasten  the  windows, 
and  I  went  out  to  help ;  but  we  had  no  tools  at  hand :  one 


108  JOHN    STERLING.. 

man  was  blown  down  the  hill  in  front  of  the  house,  before 
my  face  ;  and  the  other  and  rajself  had  great  difficulty  in 
getting  back  again  inside  the  door.  The  rain  on  my  face 
and  hands  felt  like  so  much  small  shot  from  a  gun.  There 
was  great  exertion  necessary  to  shut  the  door  of  the  house. 

'  The  windows  at  the  end  of  the  large  room  were  now 
giving  way  ;  and  I  suppose  it  was  about  nine  o'clock,  when 
the  hurricane  burst  them  in,  as  if  it  had  been  a  discharge 
from  a  battery  of  heavy  cannon.  The  shutters  were  first 
forced  open,  and  the  wind  fastened  them  back  to  the  wall  ; 
and  then  the  panes  of  glass  were  smashed  by  the  mere 
force  of  the  gale,  without  any  thing  having  touched  them. 
Even  now  I  was  not  at  all  sure  the  house  would  go.  My 
books,  I  saw,  were  lost ;  for  the  rain  poured  past  the  book- 
cases, as  if  it  had  been  the  Colonarie  River.  But  we 
carried  a  good  deal  of  furniture  into  the  passage  at  the 
entrance ;  we  set  Susan  there  on  a  sofa,  and  the  Black 
Housekeeper  was  even  attempting  to  get  her  some  break- 
fast. The  house,  however,  began  to  shake  so  violently,  and 
the  rain  was  so  searching,  that  she  could  not  stay  there 
long.  She  went  into  her  own  room ;  and  I  staid  to  see 
what  could  be  done. 

'  Under  the  forepart  of  the  house,  there  are  cellars  built 
of  stone,  but  not  arched.  To  these,  however,  there  was  no 
access  except  on  the  outside  ;  and  I  knew  from  my  own 
experience  that  Susan  could  not  have  gone  a  step  beyond 
the  door,  without  being  carried  away  by  the  storm,  and 
probably  killed  on  the  spot.  The  only  chance  seemed  to 
be  that  of  breaking  through  the  floor.  But  when  the  old 
Cook  and  myself  resolved  on  this,  we  found  that  we  had  no 
instrument  with  which  it  would  be  possible   to  do  it.     It 


ISLAND   OF   ST.    VINCENT. 


109 


was  now  clear  that  we  had  only  God  to  trust  in.  The  front 
wmdows  were  giving  way  with  successive  crashes,  and  the 
floor  shook  as  you  may  have  seen  a  carpet  on  a  gusty  day 
in  London.  I  went  into  our  bed-room ;  where  I  found 
Susan,  Tyrrell,  and  a  little  Colored  girl  of  seven  or  eight 
years  old  ;  and  told  them  that  we  should  probably  not  be 
alive  in  half  an  hour.  I  could  have  escaped,  if  I  had 
chosen  to  go  alone,  by  crawling  on  the  ground  either  into 
the  kitchen,  a  separate  stone  building  at  no  great  distance, 
or  into  the  open  fields  away  from  trees  or  houses ;  but 
Susan  could  not  have  gone  a  yard.  She  became  quite 
calm  when  she  knew  the  worst ;  and  she  sat  on  my  knee 
in  what  seemed  the  safest  corner  of  the  room,  while  every 
blast  was  brimrinii;  nearer  and  nearer  the  moment  of  our 
seemingly  certain  destruction. 

*  The  house  was  under  two  parallel  roofs  ;  and  the  one 
next  the  sea,  which  sheltered  the  other,  and  us  who  were 
under  the  other,  went  off,  I  suppose  about  ten  o'clock. 
After  my  old  plan,  I  will  give  you  a  sketch,  from  which  you 
may  perceive  how  we  were  situated : 


1. 


( H-1 

e 

[ ■ V— \ \ ] 

b          b       b    a- 

. 

' 

/ 

S        a 

> 

1 

'        d        , 

L. — ! 

}  r 


2, 


d 


1     I- 


*  The  a,  a  are  the  windows  that  were   first  destroyed : 
h  went  next ;  my  books  were  between  the  windows  5,  and 


on  the  wall  opposite  to  them. 
10 


The  lines  c  and  c^  mark  the 


110  JOHN    STERLING. 

directions  of  the  two  roofs ;  e  is  the  room  in  •which  we 
were,  and  2  is  a  plan  of  it  on  a  larger  scale.  Look  now  at 
2  :  a  is  the  bed ;  c,  c  the  two  wardrobes  ;  h  the  corner  in 
which  we  were.  I  was  sitting  in  an  arm-chair,  holding  my 
Wife  ;  and  Tjrrell  and  the  little  Black  child  were  close  to 
us.  We  had  given  up  all  notion  of  surviving  ;  and  only 
waited  for  the  fall  of  the  roof  to  perish  together. 

'  Before  long  the  roof  went.  Most  of  the  materials, 
however,  were  carried  clear  away  :  one  of  the  large  couples 
was  caught  on  the  bed-post  marked  d,  and  held  fast  by  the 
iron  spike  ;  while  the  end  of  it  hung  over  our  heads  :  had 
the  beam  fallen  an  inch  on  either  side  of  the  bed-post,  it 
must  necessarily  have  crushed  us.  The  walls  did  not  go 
with  the  roof;  and  we  remained  for  half  an  hour,  alter- 
nately praying  to  God,  and  watching  them  as  they  bent, 
creaked,  and  shivered  before  the  storm. 

'  Tyrrell  and  the  child,  when  the  roof  was  off,  made 
their  way  through  the  remains  of  the  partition,  to  the 
outer  door;  and  with  the  help  of  the  people  who  were 
looking  for  us,  got  into  the  kitchen.  A  good  while  after 
they  were  gone,  and  before  we  knew  any  thing  of  their 
fate,  a  Negro  suddenly  came  upon  us;  and  the  sight  of 
him  gave  us  a  hope  of  safety.  When  the  people  learned 
that  we  were  in  danger,  and  while  their  own  huts  were 
flying  about  their  ears,  they  crowded  to  help  us  ;  and  the 
old  Cook  urged  them  on  to  our  rescue.  He  made  five 
attempts,  after  saving  Tyrrell,  to  get  to  us ;  and  four  times 
he  was  blown  down.  The  fifth  time  he,  and  the  Negro  we 
first  saw,  reached  the  house.  The  space  they  had  to 
traverse  was  not  above  twenty  yards  of  level  ground,  if  so 
much.     In  another  minute  or  two,  the  Overseers,  and  a 


ISLAND    OF    ST.    VINCENT.  Ill 

crowd  of  Nesrroes,  most  of  whom  had  come  on  their  hands 
and  knees,  were  surrounding  us ;  and  with  their  help, 
Susan  was  carried  round  to  the  end  of  the  house ;  where 
they  broke  open  the  cellar  window,  and  placed  her  in  com- 
parative safety.  The  force  of  the  hurricane  was,  by  this 
time,  a  good  deal  diminished,  or  it  would  have  been  impos- 
sible to  stand  before  it. 

'  But  the  wind  was  still  terrific ;  and  the  rain  poured 
into  the  cellars  through  the  floor  above.  Susan,  Tyrrell, . 
and  a  crovvd  of  Negroes  remained  under  it,  for  more  than 
two  hours  :  and  I  was  long  afraid  that  the  wet  and  cold 
would  kill  her,  if  she  did  not  perish  more  violently.  Happi- 
ly we  had  wine  and  spirits  at  hand,  and  she  was  much  nerved 
by  a  tumbler  of  claret.  As  soon  as  I  saw  her  in  compara- 
tive security,  I  went  oflf  with  one  of  the  Overseers  down  to 
the  Works,  where  the  greater  number  of  the  Negroes  were 
collected,  that  we  might  see  what  could  be  done  for  them. 
They  were  wretched  enough,  but  no  one  was  hurt ;  and  I 
ordered  them  a  dram  apiece,  which  seemed  to  give  them  a 
good  deal  of  consolation. 

'  Before  I  could  make  my  way  back,  the  hurricane  be- 
came as  bad  as  at  first :  and  I  was  obliged  to  take  shelter 
for  half  an  hour  in  a  ruined  Negro-house.  This,  however, 
was  the  last  of  its  extreme  violence.  By  one  o'clock,  even 
the  rain  had  in  a  great  degree  ceased  ;  and  as  only  one 
roomof  the  house,  the  one  marked  /,  was  standing,  and 
that  rickety, — I  had  Susan  carried  in  a  chair  down  the 
hill,  to  the  Hospital ;  where,  in  a  small  paved  unlighted 
room,  she  s})ent  the  next  twenty-four  hours.  She  was  far 
less  injured  than  might  have  been  expected  from  such  a  ca- 
tastrophe. 


112  JOHN    STERLING. 

'  Next  clay,  I  had  the  passage  at  the  entrance  of  the 
house  repaired  and  roofed ;  and  we  returned  to  the  ruins 
of  our  habitation,  still  encumbered  as  they  were  with  the 
wreck  of  almost  all  we  were  possessed  of.  The  walls  of  the' 
part  of  the  house  next  the  sea  were  carried  away,  in  less  I 
think  than  half  an  hour  after  we  reached  the  cellar :  when 
I  had  leisure  to  examine  the  remains  of  the  house,  I  found 
the  floor  strown  with  fragments  of  the  building,  and  with 
broken  furniture ;  and  our  books  all  soaked  as  completely 
as  if  they  had  been  for  several  hours  in  the  sea. 

'  In  the  course  of  a  few  days  I  had  the  other  room,  g, 
which  is  under  the  same  roof  as  the  one  saved,  rebuilt ; 
and  Susan  stayed  in  this  temporary  abode  for  a  week, — 
when  we  left  Colonarie,  and  came  to  Brighton.  Mr.  Mun- 
ro's  kindness  exceeds  all  precedent.  We  shall  certainly 
remain  here  till  my  Wife  is  recovered  from  her  confinement. 
In  the  meanwhile  we  shall  have  a  new  house  built,  in  which 
we  hope  to  be  well  settled  before  Christmas. 

'  The  roof  was  half  blown  off  the  kitchen,  but  I  have  had 
it  mended  already  ;  the  other  offices  were  all  swept  away. 
The  gig  is  much  injured ;  and  my  horse  received  a  wound 
in  the  fall  of  the  stable,  from  which  he  will  not  be  recov- 
ered for  some  weeks :  in  the  meantime  I  have  no  choice 
but  to  buy  another,  as  I  must  go  at  least  once  or  twice  a 
week  to  Colonarie,  besides  business  in  Town.  As  to  our 
own  comforts,  we  can  scarcely  expect  ever  to  recover 
from  the  blow  that  has  now  stricken  us.  No  money 
would  repay  me  for  the  loss  of  my  books,  of  which  a  large 
proportion  had  been  in  my  hands  for  so  many  years  that 
they  were  like  old  and  faithful  friends,  and  of  which  many 


ISLAND    OF    ST.    VINCENT.  113 

had  been  given  me  at  diiferent  times  by  the  persons  ia  the 
world  whom  I  most  value. 

'  But  against  all  this  I  have  to  set  the  preservation  of 
our  lives,  in  a  way  the  most  awfully  providential ;  and  the 
safety  of  every  one  on  the  Estate.  And  I  have  also  the 
great  satisfaction  of  reflecting  that  all  the  Negroes  from 
whom  any  assistance  could  reasonably  be  expected,  behaved 
like  so  many  Heroes  of  Antiquity ;  risking  their  lives  and 
limbs  for  us  and  our  property,  while  their  own  poor  houses 
were  flying  like  chaflf  before  the  hurricane.  There  are  few 
White  people  here  who  can  say  as  much  for  their  Black 
dependents  ;  and  the  force  and  value  of  the  relation  be- 
tween Master  and  Slave  has  been  tried  by  the  late  calamity 
on  a  large  scale. 

'  Great  part  of  both  sides  of  this  Island  has  been  laid 
completely  waste.  The  beautiful  wide  and  fertile  Plain 
called  the  Charib  Country,  extending  for  many  miles  to 
the  north  of  Colonarie,  and  formerly  containing  the  finest 
sets  of  works  and  best  dwelling-houses  in  the  Island,  is,  I  am 
told,  completely  desolate  :  on  several  estates  not  a  roof 
even  of  a  Negro-hut  standing.  In  the  embarrassed  cir- 
cumstances of  many  of  the  proprietors,  the  ruin  is  I  fear 
irreparable. — At  Colonarie  the  damage  is  serious,  but  by 
no  means  desperate.  The  crop  is  perhaps  injured  ten  or 
fifteen  per  cent.  The  roofs  of  several  large  buildings  are 
destroyed,  bnt  these  we  are  already  supplying  ;  and  the 
injuries  done  to  the  cottages  of  the  Negroes  are,  by  this 
time,  nearly  if  not  quite  remedied. 

'  Indeed,  all   that  has  been  suffered  in   St.  Vincent  ap- 
pears nothing  when  compared  with  the  appalling  loss  of 
property  and   of  human   lives   at   Barbadoes.     There  the 
10* 


114  ,    JOHN    STERLING. 

Town  is  little  but  a  heap  of  ruins,  and  the  corpses  are 
reckoned  by  thousands  ;  while  throughout  the  Island  there 
are  not,  I  believe,  ten  estates  on  which  the  buildings  are 
standing.  The  Elliotts,  from  whom  we  have  heard,  are 
living  with  all  their  family  in  a  tent ;  and  may  think  them" 
selves  wonderfully  saved,  when  whole  families  round  them 
were  crushed  at  once  beneath  their  houses.  Hugh  Barton, 
the  only  officer  of  the  Garrison  hurt,  has  broken  his  arm, 
and  we  know  nothing  of  his  prospects  of  recovery.  The 
more  horrible  misfortune  of  Barbadoes  is  partly  to  be  ac- 
counted for  by  the  fact  of  the  hurricane  having  begun 
there  during  the  night.  The  flatness  of  the  surface  in  that 
Island  presented  no  obstacle  to  the  wind,  which  must,  how- 
ever, I  think  have  been  in  itself  more  furious  than  with  us. 
No  other  Island  has  suffered  considerably. 

'  I  have  told  both  my  Uncle  and  Anthony  that  I  have 
given  you  the  details  of  our  recent  history; — which  are  not 
so  pleasant  that  I  should  wish  to  write  them  again.  Per- 
haps you  will  be  good  enough  to  let  them  see  this,  as  soon 
as  you  and  my  Father  can  spare  it.  *  *  *  I  am  ever, 
dearest  Mother, — your  grateful  and  affectionate 

'  John  Sterling.' 

This  Letter,  I  observe,  is  dated  28th  August,  1831 ; 
which  is  otherwise  a  day  of  mark  to  the  world  and  me, — 
the  Poet  Goethe's  last  birthday.  While  Sterling  sat  in 
the  Tropical  solitudes,  penning  this  history,  little  European 
Weimar  had  its  carriages  and  state-carriages  busy  on  the 
streets,  and  was  astir  with  compliments  and  visiting-cards, 
doing  its  best,  as  heretofore,  on  behalf  of  a  remarkable 


ISLAND    OF    ST.    VINCENT.  115 

day ;  and  was  not,  for  centuries  or  tens  of  centuries,  to  see 
tlie  like  of  it  again  ! — 

At  Brighton,  the  hospitable  home  of  those  JMunroes,  our 
friends  continued  for  above  two  months.  Their  first  child, 
Edward,  as  above  noticed,  was  born  here,  '  14th  October, 
1831 ;' — and  now  the  poor  lady,  safe  from  all  her  various 
perils,  could  return  to  Colonarie  under  good  auspices. 

It  was  in  this  year  that  I  first  heard  definitely  of  Ster- 
ling as  a  contemporary  existence  ;  and  laid  up  some  note 
and  outline  of  him  in  my  memory,  as  of  one  whom  I  might 
yet  hope  to  know.  John  Mill,  Mrs.  Austin  and  perhaps 
other  friends,  spoke  of  him  with  great  afiection  and  much 
pitying  admiration ;  and  hoped  to  see  him  home  again, 
under  better  omens,  from  over  the  seas.  As  a  gifted 
amiable  being,  of  a  certain  radiant  tenuity  and  velocity, 
too  thin  and  rapid  and  diffusive,  in  danger  of  dissipating 
himself  into  the  vague,  or  alas  into  death  itself  :  it  was  so 
that,  like  a  spot  of  bright  colors,  rather  than  a  portrait 
with  features,  he  hung  occasionally  visible  in  my  imagina- 
tion. 


116 


JOHN    STERLINa. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 


A   CATASTROPHE. 


The  ruin  of  his  house  had  hardlj  been  repaired,  when 
there  arrived  out  of  Europe  tidings  ^vhich  smote  as  with  a 
still  more  fatal  hurricane  on  the  four  corners  of  his  inner 
world,  and  awoke  all  the  old  thunders  that  lay  asleep  on 
his  horizon  there.  Tidings,  at  last  of  a  decisive  nature, 
from  Gibralter  and  the  Spanish  democrat  adventure.  This 
is  what  the  Newspapers  had  to  report, — the  catastrophe  at 
once,  the  details  by  degrees, — from  Spain  concerning  that 
affair,  in  the  beginning  of  the  new  year  1832. 

Torrijos,  as  we  have  seen,  had  hitherto  accomplished  as 
good  as  nothing,  except  disappointment  to  his  impatient 
followers,  and  sorrow  and  regret  to  himself.  Poor  Torrijos, 
on  arriving  at  Gibraltar  with  his  wild  band,  and  coming 
into  contact  with  the  rough  fact,  had  found  painfully  how 
much  his  imagination  had  deceived  him.  The  fact  lay 
round  him  haggard  and  ironbound ;  flatly  refusing  to  be 
handled  according  to  his  scheme  of  it.  No  Spanish  sol- 
diery nor  citizenry  shewed  the  least  disposition  to  join  him ; 
on  the  contrary  the  official  Spaniards  of  that  coast  seemed 
to  have  the  watchfullest  eye  on  all  his  movements,  nay  it 
was  conjectured  they  had  spies  in  Gibraltar  who  gathered 
his  very  intentions  and  betrayed  them.  This  small  project 
of  attack,  and  then  that  other,  proved  futile,  or  was  aban- 
doned before  the  attempt.     Torrijos  had  to   lie  painfully 


A    CATASTROPHE.  117 

within  the  lines  of  Gibraltar, — ^liis  poor  followers  reduced  to 
extremity  of  imjmtience  and  distress  ;  the  British  Gover- 
nor too,  though  not  unfriendly  to  him,  obliged  to  frown. 
As  for  the  young  Cantabs,  they,  as  was  said,  had  wandered 
a  little  over  the  South  border  of  romantic  Spain ;  had 
perhaps  seen  Seville,  Cadiz,  with  picturesque  views,  since 
not  with  belligerent  ones ;  and  their  money  being  done, 
had  now  returned  home.  So  had  it  lasted  for  eighteen 
months. 

The  French  Three  Days  breaking  out  had  armed  the 
Guerrillero  Mina,  armed  all  manner  of  democratic  guer- 
rieros  and  guerilleros  ;  and  considerable  clouds  of  Invasion, 
from  Spanish  exiles,  hung  minatory  over  the  North  and 
North-East  of  Spain,  supported  by  the  newborn  French 
Democracy,  so  far  as  privately  possible.  These  Torrijos 
had  to  look  upon  with  inexpressible  feehngs,  and  take  no 
hand  in  supporting  from  the  South  ;  these  also  he  had  to 
see  brushed  away,  successively  abolished  by  official  general- 
ship ;  and  to  sit  within  his  lines,  in  the  painfullcst  manner, 
unable  to  do  any  thing.  The  fated,  gallant-minded,  but 
too  headlong  man.  At  length  the  British  Governor  him- 
self was  obliged,  in  official  decency,  as  is  thought  on  repeat- 
ed remonstrance  from  his  Spanish  official  neighbors,  to  sig- 
nify how  indecorous,  improper  and  impossible  it  was  to 
harbor  within  one's  lines  such  explosive  preparations,  once 
they  were  discovered,  against  allies  in  full  peace  with  us, 
— the  necessity,  in  fact,  there  was  for  the  matter  ending. 
It  is  said,  he  offered  Torrijos  and  his  people  passports,  and 
British  protection,  to  any  country  of  the  world  except 
Spain :  Torrijos  did  not  accept  the  passports  ;  spoke  of 
going  peaceably  to  this  place  or  to  that ;  promised  at  least. 


118  JOHN    STERLING. 

what  he  saw  and  felt  to  be  clearly  necessaiy,  that  he  would 
soon  leave  Gibralter.  And  he  did  soon  leave  it ;  he  and 
his,  Bojd  alone  of  the  Englishmen  being  now  with  him. 

It  was  on  the  last  night  of  November  1831,  that  they 
all  set  forth  ;  Torrijos  with  Fifty-five  companions  ;  and  in 
two  small  vessels,  committed  themselves  to  their  night-des- 
perate fortune.  No  sentry  or  official  person  had  noticed 
them  ;  it  was  from  the  Spanish  Consul,  next  morning,  that 
the  British  Governor  first  heard  they  were  gone.  The 
British  Governor  knew  nothing  of  them  ;  but  apparently 
the  Spanish  officials  were  much  better  informed.  Spanish 
guardships  instantly  awake,  gave  chase  to  the  two  small 
vessels,  which  were  making  all  sail  towards  Malaga  ;  and, 
on  shore,  all  manner  of  troops  and  detached  parties  were  in 
motion,  to  render  a  retreat  to  Gibraltar  by  land  impossible. 

Crowd  all  sail  for  Malaga,  then ;  there  perhaps  a  regi- 
ment will  join  us  ;  there, — or  if  not,  we  are  but  lost ! 
Fancy  need  not  paint  a  more  tragic  situation  than  that  of 
Torrijos,  the  unfortunate  gallant  man,  in  the  gray  of  this 
morning,  first  of  December  1831, — his  last  free  morning. 
Noble  game  is  afoot,  afoot  at  last ;  and  all  the  hunters 
have  him  in  their  toils. — The  guardships  gain  upon  Tor- 
rijos ;  he  cannot  even  reach  Malaga  ;  has  to  run  ashore  at 
a  place  called  Fuengirola,  not  far  from  that  city ; — the 
guardships  seizing  his  vessels,  so  soon  as  he  is  disembarked. 
The  country  is  all  up  ;  troops  scouring  the  coast  every- 
where :  no  possibility  of  getting  into  Malaga  with  a  party 
of  Fifty-five.  He  takes  possession  of  a  farmstead  (Ingles, 
the  place  is  called)  ;  barricades  himself  there,  but  is 
speedily  beleaguered  with  forces  hopelessly  superior.  He 
demands  to   treat ;  is  refused  all  treaty  ;  is   granted  six 


A    CATASTROPHE.  119 

hours  to  consider,  shall  then  either  surrender  at  discretion, 
or  be  forced  to  do  it.  Of  course  he  does  it,  having  no 
alternative  ;  and  enters  Malaga  a  prisoner,  all  his  followers 
prisoners.  Here  had  the  Torrijos  Enterprise,  and  all  that 
was  embarked  upon  it,  finally  arrived. 

Express  is  sent  to  Madrid ;  express  instantly  returns  : 
"  Military  execution  on  the  instant ;  give  them  shriving  if 
they  want  it ;  that  done,  fusillade  them  all."  So  poor 
Torrijois  and  his  followers,  the  Avhole  Fifty-six  of  them, 
Robert  Bo_yd  included,  meet  swift  death  in  Malaga.  In 
such  manner  rushes-down  the  curtain  on  them  and  their 
affair ;  they  vanish  thus  on  a  sudden  ;  rapt  away  as  in 
black  clouds  of  fate.  Poor  Boyd,  Sterling's  cousin,  plead- 
ed his  British  citizenship  ;  to  no  purpose :  it  availed  only 
to  his  dead  body,  this  was  delivered  to  the  British  Consul 
for  interment,  and  only  this.  Poor  Madam  Torrijos,  hear- 
ing, at  Paris  where  she  now  was,  of  her  husband's  capture, 
hurries  toward  Madrid  to  solicit  mercy ;  whither  also  mes- 
sengers from  Lafayette  and  the  French  Government  were 
hurrying,  on  the  like  errand :  at  Bayonne,  news  met  the 
poor  lady  that  it  was  already  all  over,  that  she  was  now  a 
widow,  and  her  husband  hidden  from  her  forever.  Such 
was  the  handsel  of  the  new  year  1832  for  Sterling  in  his 
West-Indian  solitudes. 

Sterling's  friends  never  heard  of  these  affairs  ;  indeed 
we  were  all  secretly  warned  not  to  mention  the  name  of 
Torrijos  in  his  hearing,  which  accordingly  remained  strictly 
a  forbidden  subject.  His  misery  over  this  catastrophe  was 
known,  in  his  own  family,  to  have  been  immense.  He 
wrote  to  his  Brother  Anthony :  '  I  hear  the  sound  of  that 


120  JOHN    STERLING. 

musketry ;  it  is  as  if  the  bullets  were  tearing  my  own 
brain.'  To  figure  in  one's  sick  and  excited  imagination 
such  a  scene  of  fatal  man-hunting,  lost  valor  hopelessly 
captured  and  massacred  ;  and  to  add  to  it,  that  the  victims 
are  not  men  merely,  that  they  are  noble  and  dear  forms 
known  lately  as  individual  friends  :  what  a  Dance  of  the 
Furies  and  wild-pealing  Dead-march  is  this,  for  the  mind  of 
a  loving,  generous  and  vivid  man  !  Torrijos  getting  ashore 
at  Fuengirola ;  Robert  Boyd  and  others  ranked  to  die  on 
the  esplanade  at  Malaga — Nay  had  not  Sterling,  too,  been 
the  innocent  yet  heedless  means  of  Boyd's  embarking  in 
this  enterprise  ?  By  his  own  kinsman  poor  Boyd  had  been 
witlessly  guided  into  the  pitfalls.  "  I  hear  the  sound  of 
that  musketry  ;  it  is  as  if  the  bullets  were  tearing  my  own 
brain  !" 


PAUSE.  121 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

J 

PAUSE.         ' 

These  thoughts  dwelt  long  ^Yith  Sterling  ;  and  for  a  good 
while,  I  fancy,  kept  possession  of  the  proscenium  of  his 
mind  ;  madly  parading  there,  to  the  exclusion  of  all  else, — 
coloring  all  else  mih  their  own  black  hues.  He  was  young, 
rich  in  the  power  to  be  miserable  or  otherwise  ;  and  this 
was  his  first  grand  sorrow  which  had  now  fallen  upon  him. 

An  important  spiritual  crisis,  coming  at  any  rate  in  some 
form,  had  hereby  suddenly  m  a  very  sad  form  come.  No 
doubt,  as  youth  was  passing  into  manhood  in  these  Tropical 
seclusions,  and  higher  wants  were  awakening  in  his  mind, 
and  years  and  reflection  were  adding  new  insight  and 
admonition,  much  in  his  young  way  of  thought  and  action 
lay  already  under  ban  with  him,  and  repentances  enough 
over  many  things  were  not  wanting.  But  here  on  a  sudden 
had  all  repentances,  as  it  were,  dashed  themselves  together 
into  one  grand  whirlwind  of  repentance  ;  and  his  past  life 
was  fallen  wholly  as  into  a  state  of  reprobation.  A  great 
remorseful  misery  had  come  upon  him.  Suddenly,  as  with 
a  sudden  lightning-stroke,  it  had  kindled  into  conflagration 
all  the  ruined  structure  of  his  past  life  ;  such  ruin  had  to 
blaze  and  flame  round  him,  in  the  painfullcst  manner,  till 
it  went  out  in  black  ashes.  His  democratic  philosophies, 
and  mutinous  radicalisms,  already  falling  doomed  in  his 
thoughts,  had  reached  their  consummation  and  final  con- 
11 


122  JOHN    STERLING. 

demnation  here.  It  Avas  all  so  rash,  imprudent,  arrogant, 
all  that :  false,  or  but  half-true ;  inapplicable  -vvhollj  as  a 
rule  of  noble  conduct ; — and  it  has  ended  thus.  Wo  on  it ! 
Another  guidance  must  be  found  in  life,  or  life  is  impos- 
sible ! — 

It  is  evident,  Sterling's  thoughts  had  already,  since  the 
old  days  of  '  the  black  dragoon,'  much  modified  themselves. 
We   perceive  that,  by  mere   increase  of  experience  and 
length  of  time,  the  opposite  and  much  deeper  side  of  the 
question,  which  also  has  its  adamantine  basis  of  truth,  was 
in  turn  coming  into  play  ;   and  in  fine  that  a  Philosophy  of 
Denial,  and  world   illuminated  merely  by  the  flames  of 
Destruction,  could  never  have  permanently  been  the  rest- 
ing-place of  such  a  man.     Those  pilgrimings  to  Coleridge, 
years  ago,  indicate  deeper  wants  beginning  to  be  felt,  and 
important  ulterior  resolutions  becoming  inevitable  for  him. 
If  in  your  own  soul  there  is  any  tone  of  the  '  Eternal  Melo- 
dies,' you  cannot  live  forever  in  those  poor  outer,  transitory 
grindings  and  discords ;  you  will  have  to  struggle  inwards 
and  upwards,  in  search  of  some  diviner  home  for  yourself! 
Coleridge's  prophetic  moonshine,  Torrijos's  sad  tragedy : 
those  were  important  occurrences  in  Sterling's  life.     But, 
on  the  whole,  there  was  a  big  Ocean  for  him,  with  impetu- 
ous Gulf-streams,  and  a  doomed  voyage  in  quest  of  the 
Atlantis,  before  either  of  those  arose  as  lights  on  the  hori- 
zon.    As  important  beacon-lights  let  us  count  them  never- 
theless ; — signal-dates  they  form  to  us,  at  lowest.    We  may 
reckon  this  Torrijos  tragedy  the  crisis  of  Sterling's  history  ; 
the  turning-point,  which  modified  in  the  -most  important 
and  by  no  means  wholly  in  the  most  favorable  manner,  all 
the  subsequent  stages  of  it. 


PAUSE.  123 

Old  Radicalism  and  mutinous  audacious  Ethnicism  hav- 
ing thus  fallen  to  wreck,  and  a  mere  black  world  of  misery 
and  remorse  now  disclosing  itself,  whatsoever  of  natural 
piety  to  God  and  man,  whatsoever  of  piety  and  reverence, 
of  awe  and  devout  hope  was  in  Sterling's  heart  now  awoke 
into  new  activity  ;  and  strove  for  some  due  utterance  and 
predominance.  His  letters,  in  these  months,  speak  of 
earnest  religious  studies  and  efforts  ;  of  prayer, — of  at- 
tempts by  prayer  and  longing  endeavor  of  all  kinds,  to 
struggle  his  way  into  the  temple,  if  temple  there  were,  and 
there  find  sanctuary.*  The  realities  were  grown  so  hag- 
gard ;  life  a  field  of  black  ashes,  if  there  rose  no  temple 
any  where  on  it !  Why,  like  a  fated  Orestes,  is  man  so 
whipt  by  the  Furies,  and  driven  madly  hither  and  thither, 
if  it  is  not  even  that  he  may  seek  some  shrine,  and  there 
make  expiation  and  find  deliverance  ? 

In  these  circumstances,  what  a  scope  for  Coleridge's 
philosophy,  above  all !  "  If  the  bottled  moonshine  he  actu- 
ally substance  ?  Ah,  could  one  but  believe  in  a  Church 
while  finding  it  incredible !  What  is  faith ;  what  is  con- 
viction, credibility,  insiglit  ?  Can  a  thing  be  at  once  known 
for  true,  and  known  for  false  ?  '  Reason,'  '  understanding  :' 
is  there,  then,  such  an  internecine  war  between  these  two  ? 
It  was  so  Coleridge  imagined  it,  the  wisest  of  existing 
men  !  " — No,  it  is  not  an  easy  matter  (according  to  Sir 
Kenelm  Digby,)  this  of  getting  up  your  '  astral  spirit'  of  a 
thing,  and  setting  it  in  action,  when  the  tiling  itself  is  well 
burnt  to  ashes.     Poor  Sterling ;   poor  sons  of  Adam  in 


*  Hare,  pp.  xliii.-xlvi. 


124  JOHiSr    STERLING. 

general,  in  tliis  sad  age  of  cobwebs,  worn-out  symbolisms, 
reminiscences  and  simulacra  !    Who  can  tell  the  struo-des 

CO 

of  poor  Sterling,  and  his  pathless  wanderings  through  these 
things !  Long  afterwards,  in  speech  with  his  Brother,  he 
compared  his  case  in  this  time  to  that  of  "  a  young  lady 
who  has  tragically  lost  her  lover,  and  is  willing  to  be  half- 
hoodwinked  into  a  convent,  or  in  any  noble  or  quasi-noble 
way  to  escape  from  a  world  which  has  become  intolerable." 

During  the  summer  of  1832,  I  find  traces  of  attempts 
towards  Anti-slavery  Philanthropy  ;  shadows  of  extensive 
schemes  in  that  direction.  Halfdesperate  outlooks,  it  is 
likely,  towards  the  refuge  of  Philanthropism,  as  a  new 
chivalrv  of  life.  These  took  no  serious  hold  of  so  clear  an 
intellect;  but  they  hovered  now  and  afterwards  as  day- 
dreams, when  life  otherwise  was  shorn  of  aim  ; — mirages  in 
the  desert,  which  are  found  not  to  be  lakes  when  you  put 
your  bucket  into  them.  One  thing  was  clear,  the  sojourn 
in  St.  Vincent  was  not  to  last  much  longer. 

Perhaps  one  might  get  some  scheme  raised  into  life,  in 
Downing  Street,  for  universal  Education  to  the  Blacks, 
preparatory  to  emancipating  them  ?  There  were  a  noble 
work  for  a  man  !  Then  again  poor  Mrs.  Sterling's  health, 
contrary  to  his  own,  did  not  agree  with  warm  moist 
climates.  And  again  &g.  &c.  These  were  the  outer  sur- 
faces of  the  measure  ;  the  unconscious  pretexts  under  which 
it  shewed  itself  to  Sterling  and  was  shewn  by  him  :  but  the 
inner  heart  and  determining  cause  of  it  (as  frequently  in 
Sterling's  life,  and  in  all  our  lives)  was  not  these.  In 
brief,  he  had  had  enough  of  St.  Vincent.     The  strangling 


PAUSE.  125 

oppressions  of  Lis  soul  -were  too  heavy  for  him  there. 
Solution  lay  in  Europe,  or  might  lie  ;  not  in  these  remote 
solitudes  of  the  sea, — where  no  shrine  or  saint's  well  is  to 
be  looked  for,  no  communing  of  pious  pilgrims  journeying 
together  towards  a  shrine. 


11* 


126  JOHN    STERLING. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

BONN;   HERSTMONCEUX. 

After  a  residence  of  perliaps  fifteen  months,  Sterling 
quitted  St.  Vincent,  and  never  returned.  He  reappeared 
at  his  Father's  house,  to  the  joy  of  Enghsh  friends,  in 
August  1832  ;  well  improved  in  health,  and  eager  for 
English  news  ;  but,  beyond  vague  schemes  and  possibilities, 
considerably  uncertain  what  was  next  to  be  done. 

After  no  long  stay  in  this  scene, — finding  Downing 
Street  dead  as  stone  to  the  Slave-Education  and  to  all 
other  schemes, — he  went  across,  with  his  wife  and  child, 
to  Germany  ;  purposing  to  make  not  so  much*  a  tour  as 
some  loose  ramble,  or  desultory  residence  in  that  country, 
in  the  Rhineland  first  of  all.  •  Here  was  to  be  hoped  the 
picturesque  in  scenery,  which  he  much  affected  ;  here  the 
new  and  true  in  speculation,  which  he  inwardly  longed  for 
and  wanted  greatly  more  ;  at  all  events,  here  as  readily  as 
elsewhere  might  a  temporary  household  be  struck  up, 
under  interesting  circumstances. — I  conclude  he  went 
across  in  the  Spring  of  1833  ;  perhaps  directly  after 
Arthur  Ooningsly  had  got  through  the  press.  This  Novel, 
which  as  we  have  said,  was  begun  two  or  three  years  ago, 
probably  on  his  cessation  from  the  Athenceum,  and  was 
mainly  finished,  I  think,  before  the  removal  to  St.  Vincent, 
had  by  this  time  fallen  as  good  as  obsolete  to  his  own  mind ; 
and  its  destination  now,  whether  to  the  press  or  to  the  fire, 


BONN;    HERSTMOXCEUX.  127 

was  in  some  sort  a  matter  at  once  of  difficulty  and  of  insiir- 
nificance  to  him.  At  length  deciding;  for  the  milder  alter- 
native,  he  had  thrown  in  some  completing  touches  here  and 
there, — especially,  as  I  conjecture,  a  proportion  of  Colerid- 
gean  moonshine  at  the  end  ;  and  so  sent  it  forth. 

It  was  in  the  sunny  days,  perhaps  in  May  or  June  of 
this  year,  that  Arthur  GDningsby  reached  my  own  hand, 
far  off  amid  the  heathy  wildernesses  ;  sent  by  John  Mill : 
and  I  can  still  recollect  the  pleasant  little  episode  it  made 
in  my  solitude  there.  The  general  impression  it  left  on  me, 
which  has  never  since  been  renewed  by  a  second  readino; 
in  whole  or  in  part,  was  the  certain  prefigurement  to 
myself,  more  or  less  distinct,  of  an  opulent,  genial  and 
sunny  mind,  but  misdirected,  disappointed,  experienced  in 
misery  ; — nay  crude  and  hasty  ;  mistaking  for  a  solid  out- 
come from  its  woes  what  was  only  to  me  a  gilded  vacuity. 
The  hero  an  ardent  youth,  representing  Sterling  himself, 
plunges  into  life  such  as  we  now  have  it  in  these  anarchic 
times,  with  the  radical,  utilitarian,  or  mutinous  heathen 
theory,  which  is  the  readiest  for  inquiring  souls ;  finds,  by 
various  courses  of  adventure,  utter  shipwreck  in  this  ;  lies 
broken,  very  wretched  :  that  is  the  tragic  nodus,  or  apogee 
of  his  life-course.  In  this  mood  of  mind,  he  clutches  des- 
perately towards  some  new  method  (recognizable  as  Cole- 
ridge's) of  laying  hand  again  on  the  old  Church,  which 
has  hitherto  been  extraneous  and  as  if  non-extant  to  his 
way  of  thought ;  makes  out,  by  some  Coleridgean  legerde- 
main, that  there  actually  is  still  a  Church  for  him ;  that 
this  extant  Church,  which  he  long  took  for  an  extinct 
shadow,  is  not  such,  but  a  substance ;  upon  which  he  can 
anchor  himself  amid  the  storms  of  fate ; — and  he  does  so, 


128  JOHN    STERLING. 

even  taking  orders  in  it,  I  think.    Such  could  by  no  means 
seem  to  me  the  true  or  tenable  solution.     Here  clearly, 
struggling  amid  the  tumults,  was  a  lovable  young  fellow- 
soul  ;  who  had  by  no  means  yet  got  to  land ;  but  of  whom 
much  might  be  hoped,  if  he  ever  did.     Some  of  the  deline- 
ations  are   highly   pictorial,  flooded  with   a  deep   ruddy 
effulgence  ;  betokening  much  Avealth,  in  the  crude  or  the 
ripe  state.     The  hope  of  perhaps,  one  day,  knowing  Ster- 
ling, was  welcome  and  interesting  to  me.     Arthw  Con- 
ingsby^  struggling   imperfectly  in   a   sphere   high   above 
circulating-library  novels,  gained  no  notice  whatever  in  that 
quarter;  gained,  I  suppose  in  a  few  scattered  heads,  some 
such  recognition  as  the  above  ;  and  there  rested.     Sterling 
never  mentioned  the  name  of  it  in  my  hearing,  or  would 
hear  it  mentioned. 

In  those  very  days  while  Arthur  Coningsby  was  getting 

read  amid  the  Scottish  moors,  '  in  June  1833,'  Sterling, 

at  Bonn  in  the  Rhine-country,  fell  in  with  his  old  tutor  and 

friend,  the  Reverend  Julius  Hare ;    one  with   whom  he 

always  delighted  to  communicate,  especially  on  such  topics 

as  then   altogether   occupied  him.     A   man   of  cheerful 

serious  character,  of  much  approved  accomplishment,  of 

perfect  courtesy  ;  surely  of  much  piety,  in  all  senses  of  that 

word.     Mr.  Hare  had  quitted   his  scholastic  labors  and 

distinctions,  some  time  ago ;  the  call  or  opportunity  for 

taking  orders  having  come  ;  and  as  Rector  of  Herstmonceux 

in  Sussex,  a  place  patrimonially  and  otherwise  endeared  to 

him,  was  about  'entering,  under  the  best  omens,  on  a  new 

course  of  life.     He  was  now  on  his  return  from  Rome,  and 

a  visit  of  some  length  to  Italy.     Such  a  meeting  could  not 


EONN  ;    HERSTMONCEUX.  129 


but  be  welcome  and  important  to  Sterling  in  such  a  mood. 
They  had  much  earnest  conversation,  freely  communing  on 
the  highest  matters  ;  especially  of  Sterling's  purpose  to 
undertake  the  clerical  profession  in  which  course  his  rev- 
erend friend  could  not  but  bid  him  good  speed. 

It  appears.  Sterling  already  intimated  his  intention  to 
become  a  clergyman  :  He  would  study  theology,  bibicali- 
ties,  perfect  himself  in  the  knowledge  seemly  or  essential 
for  his  new  course  ; — read  diligently  '  for  a  year  or  two  in 
some  good  German  University,'  then  seek  to  obtain  orders  : 
that  was  his  plan.  To  which  Mr.  Hare  gave  his  hearty 
Eage  ;  adding  that  If  his  own  curacy  happened  then  to  be 
vacant,  he  should  be  well  pleased  to  have  Sterling  in  that 
office.     So  they  parted. 

'  A  year  or  two '  of  serious  reflection  '  in  some  good 
German  University,'  or  any  where  in  the  world,  might  have 
thrown  much  elucidation  upon  these  confused  stragglings 
and  purposings  of  Sterling's,  and  probably  have  spared 
him  some  confusion  in  his  subsequent  life.  But  the  talent 
of  waiting  was,  of  all  others,  the  one  he  wanted  most. 
Impetuous  velocity,  all-hoping  headlong  alacrity,  what  we 
must  call  rashness  and  impatience,  characterized  him  in 
most  of  his  important  and  unimportant  procedures  ;  from 
the  purpose  to  the  execution  there  was  usually  but  one  big 
leap  with  him.  A  few  months  after  Mr.  Hare  was  gone. 
Sterling  wrote  that  his  purposes  were  a  little  changed  by 
the  late  meeting  at  Bonn  ;  that  he  now  longed  to  enter  the 
Church  straightway ;  that  if  the  Ilerstmonceux  Curacy 
was  still  vacant,  and  the  Rector's  kind  thought  towards 
him  still  held,  he  would  instantly  endeavor  to  qualify 
himself  for  that  office. 


130 


JOHN    STERLING. 


Answer  being  in  the  affirmative  on  both  heads,  Sterling 
returned  to  England  ;  took  orders, — '  ordained  deacon  at 
Chichester  on  Trinity  Sunday  in  1834  '  (he  never  became 
technically  priest)  : — and  so,  having  fitted  himself  and 
family  with  a  reasonable  house,  in  one  of  those  leafy  lanes 
in  quiet  Herstmonceux,  on  the  edge  of  Pevensy  Level,  he 
commenced  the  duties  of  his  Curacy. 

The  bereaved  young  lady  has  taJcen  the  vail,  then! 
Even  so.  "  Life  is  growing  all  so  dark  and  brutal ;  must 
be  redeemed  into  human,  if  it  will  continue  life.  Some 
pious  heroism,  to  give  a  human  color  to  life  again,  on  any 
terms," — even  on  impossible  ones  ! 

To  such  length  can  transcendental  moonshine,  cast  by 
some  morbidly  radiating  Coleridge  into  the  chaos  of  a  fer- 
menting life,  act  magically  there,  iind  produce  divulsions 
and  convulsions  and  diseased  developments.  So  dark  and 
abstruse,  without  lamp  or  authentic  fingerpost,  is  the 
course  of  pious  genius  towards  the  Eternal  Kingdoms  • 
grown.  No  fixed  highway  more ;  the  old  spiritual  high- 
ways and  recognized  paths  to  the  Eternal,  now  all  torn  up 
and  flung  in  heaps,  submerged  in  unutterable  boiling  mud- 
oceans  of  Hypocrisy  and  Unbelievability,  of  brutal  living 
Atheism  and  damnable  dead  putrescent  Cant :  surely  a 
tragic  pilgrimage  for  all  mortals  ;  Darkness,  and  the  mere 
shadow  of  Death,  enveloping  all  things  from  pole  to  pole  ; 
and  in  the  raging  gulf  currents,  offering  us  will-o'wisps  for 
loadstars, — intimating  that  there  are  no  stars,  nor  ever 
were,  except  certain  Old- Jew  ones  which  have  now  gone 
out.  Once  more,  a  tragic  pilgrimage  for  all  mortals  ;  and 
for  the  young  pious  soul,  winged  with  genius,  and  passion- 


BONN;    HERSTMONCEUX.  131 

atelj  seeking  land,  and  passionately  abhorrent  of  floating 
carrion  withal,  more  tragical  than  for  any  ! — A  pilgrimage 
we  must  all  undertake  nevertheless,  and  make  the  best  of 
with  our  respective  means.  Some  arrive  ;  a  glorious  few  : 
many  must  be  lost, — go  down  upon  the  floating  wreck 
which  they  took  for  land.  Nay,  courage  !  These  also,  so 
far  as  there  was  any  heroism  in  them,  have  bequeathed 
their  life  as  a  contribution  to  us,  have  valiantly  laid  their 
bodies  in  the  chasm  for  us  :  of  these  also  there  is  no  ray  of 
heroism  lost^ — and,  on  the  whole,  what  else  of  them  could 
or  should  be  '  saved '  at  any  time  ?  Courage,  and  ever 
Forward ! 

Concerning  this  attempt  of  Sterling's  to  find  sanctuary 
in  the  old  Church,  and  desperately  grasp  the  hem  of  her 
garment  in  such  manner,  there  will  at  present  be  many 
opinions :  and  mine  must  be  recorded  here  in  flat  reproval 
of  it,  in  mere  pitying  condemnation  of  it,  as  a  rash,  false, 
unwise  and  unpermitted  step.    Nay,  among  the  evil  lessons 
of  his  Time  to  poor  Sterling  I  cannot  but  account  this  the 
worst ;  properly  indeed,  as  we  may  say,  the  apotheosis,  the 
solemn  apology  and  consecration,  of  all  the  evil  lessons  that 
were  in  it  to  him.     Alas,  if  we  did  remember  the  divine 
and  awful  nature  of  God's  Truth,  and  had  not  so  forgotten 
it  as  poor  doomed  creafures  never  did  before, — should  we, 
durst  we  in  our  most  audacious  moments,  think  of  wedding 
it  to  the  world's  Untruth,  which  is  also,  like  all  untruths, 
the  Devil's  ?     Only  in  the  world's  last  lethargy  can  such 
things  be  done,  and  accounted  safe   and   pious !    Fools ! 
"  Do  you  think  the  Living  God  is  a  buzzard  idol,"  sternly 
asks  Milton,  that  you  dare  address  Him  in  this  manner  ? 
— Such  darkness,  thick  sluggish  clouds  of  cowardice  and 


132  JOHN    STERLING. 

oblivious  baseness,  have  accumulated  on  us ;  tliickening  as 
if  towards  the  eternal  sleep  !  It  is  not  now  known,  what 
never  needed  proof  or  statement  before,  that  lleligion  is 
not  a  doubt ;  that  it  is  a  certainty, — or  else  a  mockery  and 
horror.  That  none  or  all  of  the  many  things  we  are  in 
doubt  about,  and  need  to  have  demonstrated  and  rendered 
probable,  can  by  any  alchemy  be  made  a  '  Religion  '  for 
us  ;  but  are  and  must  continue  a  baleful,  quiet  or  unquiet, 
Hypocrisy  for  us  ;  and  hrmg— salvation,  do  we  fancy  ? 
I  think,  it  is  another  thing  they  will  bring  ;  and  are,  on  all 
hands,  visibly  bringing,  this  good  while  ! — 

The  Time,  then,  with  its  dehriums,  has  done  its  worst 
for  poor  Sterling.  Into  deeper  aberration  it  cannot  lead 
him  ;  this  is  the  crowning  error.  Happily,  as  beseems  the 
superlative  of  errors,  it  was  a  very  brief,  almost  a  mo- 
mentary one.  In  June  1834  Sterhng  dates  as  installed  at 
Herstmonceux ;  and  is  flinging,  as  usual,  his  whole  soul 
into  the  business  ;  successfully  so  far  as  outward  results 
could  shew :  but  already  in  September,  he  begins  to  have 
misgivings  ;  and  in  February  following,  quits  it  altogether, 
— the  rest  of  his  life  being,  in  great  part,  a  laborious  effort 
of  detail  to  pick  the  fragments  of  it  off"  him,  and  be  free  of 
it  in  soul  as  well  as  in  title. 

At  this  the  extreme  point  of  spiritual  deflexion  and  de- 
pression, when  the  world's  madness,  unusually  impressive 
on  such  a  man,  has  done  its  very  worst  with  him,  and  in  all 
future  errors  whatsoever  he  will  be  a  little  less  mistaken, 
w^e  may  close  the  First  Part  of  Sterling's  Life. 


LIFE   OF  JOM  STERLING. 


PART    II 


12 


JOHN    STERLING. 


CHAPTER  I 


CURATE. 


By  Mr.  Hare's  account,  no  priest  of  any  Church  could 
more  fervently  address  himself  to  his  functions  than 
Sterling  now  did.  He  went  about  among  the  poor,  the 
ignorant,  and  those  that  had  need  of  help ;  zealously 
forwarded  schools  and  beneficences  ;  strove,  -with  his  whole 
might,  to  instruct  and  aid  whosoever  suffered  consciously 
in  body,  or  still  worse  unconsciously  in  mind.  He  had 
chai'ged  himself  to  make  the  Apostle  Paul  his  model ;  the 
perils  and  voyagings  and  ultimate  martyrdom  of  Christian 
Paul,  in  those  old  ages,  on  the  great  scale,  were  to  be 
translated  into  detail,  and  become  the  practical  emblem  of 
Christian  Sterling  on  the  coast  of  Sussex  in  this  new  age. 
'  It  would  be  no  longer  from  Jerusalem  to  Damascus,' 
writes  Sterling,  '  to  Arabia,  to  Derbe,  Lystra,  Ephesus, 
that  he  would  travel :  but  each  house  of  his  appointed 
Parish  would  be  to  him  what  each  of  those  great  cities  was, 
— a  place  where  he  would  bend  his  whole  being,  and  spend 
his  heart  for  the  conversion,  purification,  elevation  of  those 


136  JOHN    STERLING. 

under  his  influence.  The  whole  man  would  be  forever  at 
work  for  this  purpose  ;  head,  heart,  knowledge,  time,  body, 
possessions,  all  would  be  directed  to  this  end.  A  high 
enough  model  set  before  one : — how  to  be  realized ! 
Sterling  hoped  to  realize  it,  to  struggle  towards  realizing 
it,  in  some  small  degree.  This  is  Mr.  Hare's  report  of 
him  : — 

'  He  was  continually  devising  some  fresh  scheme  for 
improving  the  condition  of  the  Parish.  His  aim  was  to 
awaken  the  minds  of  the  people,  to  arouse  their  conscience, 
to  call  forth  their  sense  of  moral  responsibility,  to  make 
them  feel  their  own  sinfulness,  their  need  of  redemption, 
and  thus  lead  them  to  a  recognition  of  the  Divine  Love  by 
which  that  redemption  is  offered  to  us.  In  visiting  them 
he  was  diligent  in  all  weathers,  to  the  risk  of  his  own 
health,  which  was  greatly  impaired  thereby  ;  and  his  gen- 
tleness and  considerate  care  for  the  sick  won  their  affection ; 
so  that,  though  his  stay  was  very  short,  his  name  is  still, 
after  a  dozenyears,  cherished  by  many.' 

How  beautiful  would  Sterling  be  in  all  this  ;  rushing 
forward  like  a  host  towards  victory  ;  playing  and  pulsing 
like  sunshine  or  soft  lightning ;  busy  at  all  hours  to  perform 
his  part  in  abundant  and  superabundant  measure !  '  Of 
that  which  it  was  to  me  personally,'  continues  Mr.  Hare, 
'  to  have  such  a  fellow-laborer,  to  live  constantly  in  the 
freest  communion  with  such  a  friend,  I  cannot  speak.  He 
came  to  me  at  a  time  of  heavy  affliction,  just  after  I  had 
heard  that  the  Brother,  who  had  been  the  sharer  of  all  my 
thoughts  and  feelings  from  childhood,  had  bid  farewell  to 
his  earthly  life  at  Rome  ;  and  thus  he  seemed  given  to  me 
to  make  up  in  some  gort  for  him  whom  I  had  lost.     Almost 


CURATE.  137. 

daily  did  I  look  out  for  his  usual  hour  of  coming  to  me,  and 
watch  his  tall  slender  form  walking  rapidly  across  the  hill 
in  front  of  my  window  ;  with  the  assurance  that  he  was 
coming  to  cheer  and  brighten,  to  rouse  and  stir  me,  to  call 
me  up  to  some  height  of  feeling,  or  down  to  some  depth  of 
thought.     His  lively  spirit,  responding  instantaneously  to 
every  impulse  of  Nature  and  Art ;   his  generous  ardor  in 
behalf  of  whatever  is  noble  and  true ;    his  scorn  of  all 
meanness,  of  all  false  pretences  and  conventional  beliefs, 
softened  as  it  was  by  compassion  for  the  victims  of  those 
besetting  sins  of  a  cultivated  age  ;  his  never-flagging  impetu- 
osity in  pushing  onward  to  some  unattained  point  of  duty  or 
of  knowledge  ;  all  this,  along  with  his  gentle,  almost  rever- 
ential aifectionateness  towards  his  former  tutor,  rendered 
my  intercourse   with  him  an  unspeakable   blessing ;  and 
time  after  time  has  it  seemed  to  me  that  his  visit  had  been 
like  a  shower  of  rain,  bringing  down  freshness  and  bright- 
ness on  a  dusty  roadside  hedge.     By  him  too  the  recollec- 
tion of  these  our  daily  meetings  was  cherished  till  the  last.'* 
There  arc  many  poor  people  still  at  Herstmonceux  who 
affectionately  remember  him  ;    Mr.  Hare  especially  makes 
mention  of  one  good  man  there,  in  his  young  days  '  a  poor 
cobbler,'  and  now  advanced  to  a  much  better  position,  who 
gratefully  ascribes  this  outward  and  the  other  improvements 
in  his  life  to  Sterling's  generous  encouragement  and  char- 
itable care  for  him.     Such  was  the  curate-life  at  Herst- 
monceux.    So,  in  those  actual  leafy  lanes,  on  the  edge  of 
Pevensy  Level,  in  this  new  age,  did  our  poor  New  Paul 
(on  best  of  certain  oracles)  diligently  study  to  comport 


*  Hare,  xlvili.  liv.  Iv. 

12* 


138  JOHN    STERLING. 

himself, — and  struggle  ^vith  all  his  might  not  to  be  a  moon- 
shine shadow  of  the  First  Paul. 

It  was  in  this  summer  of  1834, — month  of  May,  shortly 
after  arriving  in  London, — that  I  first  saw  Sterling's 
Father.  A  stout  broad  gentleman  of  sixty,  perpendicular 
in  attitude,  rather  shewily  dressed,  and  of  gracious,  inge- 
nious and  slightly  elaborate  manners.  It  was  at  Mrs. 
Austin's  in  Bayswater ;  he  was  just  taking  leave  as  I 
entered,  so  our  interview  lasted  only  a  moment :  but  the 
figure  of  the  man,  as  Sterling's  father,  had  already  an 
interest  for  me,  and  I  remember  the  time  well.  Captain 
Edward  Sterling,  as  we  formerly  called  him,  had  now  quite 
dropt  the  military  title,  nobody  even  of  his  friends  now  re- 
membering it ;  and  was  known,  according  to  his  wish,  in 
political  and  other  circles,  as  ]\Ir.  Sterling,  a  private  gen- 
tleman of  some  figure.  Over  whom  hung,  moreover,  a 
kind  of  mysterious  nimbus  as  the  principal  or  one  of  the 
principal  writers  in  the  Times,  which  gave  an  interesting 
chiaroscuro  to  his  character  in  society.  A  potent,  profita- 
ble, but  somewhat  questionable  position  ;  of  which,  though 
he  affected,  and  sometimes  with  anger,  altogether  to  disown 
it,  and  rigorously  insisted  on  the  rights  of  anonymity,  he  was 
not  unwilling  to  take  the  honors  too :  the  private  pecuniary 
advantages  were  very  undeniable  :  and  his  reception  in  the 
Clubs,  and  occasionally  in  higher  quarters,  was  a  good  deal 
modeled  on  the  universal  belief  in  it. 

John  Sterling  at  Herstmonceux  that  afternoon,  and  his 
Father  here  in  London,  would  have  offered  strange  con- 
trasts to  an  eye  that  had  seen  them  both.  Contrasts,  and 
yet  concordances.     They  were  two  very  different-looking 


CURATE.  139 

men,  and  were  following  two  very  different  modes  of 
activity  that  afternoon.  And  yet  with  a  strange  family 
likeness,  too,  both  in  the  men  and  their  activities  ;  the  cen- 
tral impulse  in  each,  the  faculties  applied  to  fulfill  said  im- 
pulse, not  at  all  dissimilar, — as  grew  visible  to  me  on 
farther  knowledge. 


140  JOHN    STERLING. 


CHAPTER    II 


NOT   CURATE. 


Thus  it  went  on  for  some  months  at  Herstmonceux ;  but 
tlius  it  could  not  last.  We  said  there  were  already  misgiv- 
ings as  to  health,  &c.  in  September :  *  that  was  but  the 
fourth  month,  for  it  had  begun  only  in  June.  The  like 
clouds  of  misgiving,  flights  of  dark  vapor,  chequering  more 
and  more  the  bright  sky  of  this  promised  land,  rose  heavier 
and  rifer  month  after  month ;  till  in  February  following, 
that  is  in  the  eighth  month  from  starting,  the  sky  had 
grown  quite  overshaded  ;  and  poor  Sterling  had  to  think 
practically  of  departure  from  his  promised  land  again,  find- 
ing that  the  goal  of  his  pilgrimage  was  not  there.  Not 
there,  wherever  it  may  be  !  March  again,  therefore ;  the 
abiding  city,  and  post  at  which  we  can  live  and  die,  is  still 
ahead  of  us,  it  would  appear  ! 

'  Ill-health  '  was  the  external  cause  ;  and,  to  all  parties 
concerned,  to  Sterling  himself  I  have  no  doubt  as  com- 
pletely as  to  any,  the  one  determining  cause.  Nor  was  the 
ill-health  wanting  ;  it  was  there  in  too  sad  reality.  And 
yet  properly  it  was  not  there  as  the  burden  ;  it  was  there 
as  the  last  ounce  which  broke  the  camel's  back.  I  take  it, 
in  this  as  in  other  cases  known  to  me,  ill-health  was  not  the 
primary  cause  but  rather  the  ultimate  one,  the  summing  up 


*  Hare,  p.  Ivi. 


NOT     CURATE.  141 

of  innumerable  far  deeper  conscious  and  unconscious  causes, 
— the  cause  which  could  boldly  show  itself  on  the  surface, 
and  give  the  casting  vote.  Such  was  often  Sterling's  way, 
as  one  could  observe  in  such  cases  :  though  the  most  guile- 
less, undeceptive  and  transparent  of  men,  he  had  a  notice- 
able, almost  childlike  faculty  of  self-deception,  and  usually 
substituted  for  the  primary  determining  motive  and  set  of 
motives,  some  ultimate  ostensible  one,  and  gave  that  out  to 
himself  and  others  as  the  ruling  impulse  for  important 
changes  in  life.  As  is  the  way  with  much  more  ponderous 
and  deliberate  men  ; — as  is  the  way,  in  a  degree,  with  all 
men  ! 

Enough,  in  February,  1834,  Sterling  came  up  to  Lon- 
don, to  consult  with  his  physicians, — and  in  fact  in  all  ways 
to  consider  with  himself  and  friends, — what  was  to  be  done 
in  regard  to  this  Herstmonceux  business.  The  oracle  of 
the  physicians,  like  that  of  Delphi,  was  not  exceedingly 
determinate  :  but  it  did  bear,  what  Avas  a  sufficiently  unde- 
niable fact,  that  Sterling's  constitution,  with  a  tendency  to 
pulmonary  ailments,  was  ill-suited  for  the  office  of  a 
preacher ;  that  total  abstinence  from  preaching,  for  a  year 
or  two,  would  clearly  be  the  safer  course.  To  Avhich  effect 
he  writes  to  Mr.  Hare  with  a  tone  of  sorrowful  agitation ; 
gives  up  his  clerical  duties  at  Herstmonceux  ; — and  never 
resumed  them  there  or  elsewhere.  He  had  been  in  the 
Church  eight  months  in  all :  a  brief  section  of  his  life,  but 
an  important  one,  which  colored  several  of  his  subsequent 
years,  and  now  strangely  colors  all  his  years  in  the  memory 
of  some. 

This  we  may  account  the  second  grand  crisis  of  his  His- 


142  JOHN     STERLING. 

tory.  Radicalism,  not  long  since,  had  come  to  its  consum- 
mation, and  vanished  from  him  in  a  tragic  manner.  "  Not 
by  Radicalism  is  the  path  to  Human  Nobleness  for  me  !" 
And  here  now  had  English  Priesthood  risen  like  a  sun, 
over  the  waste  ruins  and  extinct  volcanoes  of  his  dead 
Radical  world,  with  promise  of  new  blessedness  and  healing 
under  its  wings ;  and  this  too  has  soon  found  itself  an  illu- 
sion :  "  Not  by  Priesthood  either  lies  the  way,  then. 
Once  more,  where  does  the  way  lie  !" — To  follow  illusions 
till  they  burst  and  vanish  is  the  lot  of  all  new  souls  who, 
luckily  or  lucklessly,  are  left  to  their  own  choice  in  starting 
on  this  Earth.  The  roads  are  many  ;  the  authentic  finger- 
posts are  few, — never  fewer  than  in  this  era,  when  in  so 
many  senses  the  waters  are  out.  Sterling  of  all  men  had 
the  quickest  sense  for  nobleness,  heroism,  and  the  human 
siimmum  honum;  the  liveliest  headlong  spirit  of  adventure 
and  audacity  ;  few  gifted  living  men  less  stubbornness  of 
perseverance.  Illusions,  in  his  chase  of  the  summum 
honum^  "were  not  likely  to  be  wanting ;  aberrations,  and 
wasteful  changes  of  course,  were  likely  to  be  many  !  It  is 
in  the  history  of  such  vehement,  trenchant,  far-shining  and 
yet  intrinsically  hght  and  volatile  souls,  missioned  into  this 
epoch  to  seek  their  way  there,  that  we  best  see  what  a  con- 
fused epoch  it  is. 

This  clerical  aberration, — for  such  it  undoubtedly  was  in 
Sterling, — we  have  ascribed  to  Coleridge  ;  and  do  clearly 
think  that  had  there  been  no  Coleridge,  neither  had  this 
been, — nor  had  English  Pusevism  or  some  other  stran<ii;e 
enough  universal  portents  been.  Nevertheless,  let  us  say 
farther  that  it  lay  partly  in  the  general  bearing  of  the 
world  for  such  a  man.     This  battle,  universal  in  our  sad 


NOT  ' CURATE.  143 

epoch,  of  '  all  old  things  passing  away'  against  '  all  things 
becoming  new,'  has  its  summary  and  animating  heart  in 
that  of  Radicalism  against  Church  ;  there,  as  in  its  flaming 
core,  and  point  of  focal  splendor,  does  the  heroic  worth 
that  lies  in  each  side  of  the  quarrel  most  clearly  disclose 
itself;  and  Sterling  was  the  man,  above  many,  to  recognize 
such  worth  on  both  sides.  Katural  enough,  in  such  a  one, 
that  the  light  of  Radicalism  having  gone  out  in  darkness 
for  him,  the  opposite  splendor  should  next  rise  as  the  chief, 
and  invite  his  loyalty  till  it  also  failed.  In  one  form  or  the 
other,  such  an  aberration  Avas  not  unlikely  for  him.  But 
an  aberration,  especially  in  this  form,  we  may  certainly  call 
it.  No  man  of  Sterling's  veracity,  had  he  clearly  con- 
sulted his  own  heart,  or  had  his  own  heart  been  capable  of 
clearly  responding,  and  not  been  dazzled  and  bewildered 
by  transient  fantasies  and  theosophic  moonshine,  could 
have  undertaken  this  function.  His  heart  would  have 
answered :  "  No,  thou  canst  not.  What  is  incredible  to 
thee,  thou  shalt  not,  at  thy  soul's  peril,  attempt  to  believe  ? 
Elsewhither  for  a  refuge,  or  die  here.  Go  to  Perdition  if 
thou  must, — but  not  with  a  lie  in  thy  mo.uth  ;  by  the  Eter- 
nal Maker,  no  1" 

Alas,  once  more  !  How  are  poor  mortals  whirled  hither 
and  thither  in  the  tumultuous  chaos  of  our  era  ;  and,  under 
the  thick  smoke-canopy  which  has  eclipsed  all  stars,  how  do 
they  fly  now  after  this  poor  meteor,  now  after  that ! — 
Sterling  abandoned  his  clerical  office  in  February  1835  ; 
having  held  it,  and  ardently  followed  it  so  long  as  we  say, 
— eijiht  calendar  months  in  all. 


o 


It  was  on  this  his  February  expedition  to  London  that  I 


144:  JOHN    STERLING. 

first  saw  Sterling, — at  the  India  House  incidentally,  one 
afternoon,  where  I  found  him  in  company  with  John  Mill, 
whom  I  happened  like  himself  to  be  visiting  for  a  few  min- 
utes. The  sight  of  one  whose  fine  qualities  I  had  often 
heard  of  lately,  was  interesting  enough  ;  and,  on  the  whole, 
proved  not  disappointing,  though  it  was  the  translation  of 
dream  into  fact,  that  is  of  poetry  into  prose,  and  shewed  its 
unrhymed  side  withal.  A  loose,  careless-looking,  thin 
figure,  in  careless  dim  costume,  sat,  in  a  lounging  posture, 
carelessly  and  copiously  talking.  I  was  struck  with  the 
kindly  but  restless  swift-glancing  eyes,  which  looked  as  if 
the  spirits  were  all  out  coursing  like  a  pack  of  merry  eager 
beagles,  beating  every  bush.  The  brow,  rather  sloping  in 
form,  was  not  of  imposing  character,  though  again  the  head 
Avas  longish,  which  is  always  the  best  sign  of  intellect ;  the 
physiognomy  in  general  indicated  animation  rather  than 
stren2;th. 

We  talked  rapidly  of  various  unmemorable  things :  I 
remember  coming  on  the  Negroes,  and  noticing  that  Ster- 
ling's notions  on  the  Slavery  Question  had  not  advanced 
into  the  stage  of  mine.  In  reference  to  the  question 
whether  an  "  engagement  for  life,"  on  just  terms,  between 
parties  who  are  fixed  in  the  character  of  master  and  ser- 
vant, as  the  Whites  and  the  Negroes  are,  is  not  really 
better  than  one  from  day  to  day, — he  said  with  a  kindly 
jeer,  "  I  would  have  the  Negroes  themselves  consulted  as 
to  that!" — and  would  not  in  the  least  believe  that  the 
Negroes  were  by  no  means  final  or  perfect  judges  of  it. — 
His  address,  I  perceived,  was  abrupt,  unceremonious ; 
probably  not  at  all  disinclined  to  logic,  and  capable  of  dash- 
ing in  upon  you  like  a  charge  of  cossacks,  on  occasion  : 


NOT     CUllATE.  145 

but  it  was  also  eminently  ingenious,  social,  guileless.  We 
did  all  very  well  together :  and  Sterling  and  I  walked 
westward  in  company,  choosing  whatever  lanes  or  quietest 
streets  there  were,  as  far  as  Knightsbridge  where  our  roads 
I  parted  ;  talking  on  moralities,  theological  philosophies  ;  ar- 
;  guing  copiously,  but  exce^yt  in  opinion  not  disagreeing. 

In  his  notions  on  such  subjects,  the  expected  Coleridge 
cast  of  thought  was  very  visible  ;  and  he  seemed  to  express 
it  even  with  exaggeration,  and  in  a  fearless  dogmatic  man- 
ner. Identity  of  sentiment,  difference  of  opinion:  these 
are  the  known  elements  of  a  pleasant  dialogue.  We  parted 
Avith  the  mutual  wish  to  meet  again  ; — which  accordingly, 
at  his  Father's  house  and  at  mine,  we  soon  repeatedly  did; 
and  already,  in  the  few  days  before  his  return  to  Herst- 
monceux,  had  laid  the  foundations  of  a  frank  intercourse, 
pointing  towards  pleasant  intimacies  both  with  himself  and 
with  his  circle,  which  in  the  future  were  abundantly  fulfill- 
ed. His  Mother,  essentially  and  even  professedly  "  Scotch," 
took  to  my  Wife  gradually  with  a  most  kind  maternal  re- 
lation;  his  Father,  a  gallant  shewy  stirring  gentleman, 
the  magus  of  the  Times,  had  talk  and  argument  ever 
ready,  was  an  interesting  figure,  and  more  and  more  took 
interest  in  us.  We  had  unconsciously  made  an  acquisition, 
which  grew  richer  and  wholesomer  with  every  new  year ; 
and  ranks  now,  seen  in  the  pale  moonlight  of  memory, 
and  must  ever  rank,  among  the  precious  possessions  of 
life. 

Sterling's  bright  ingenuity,  and  also  his  audacity,  velo- 
city and  alacrity,  struck  me  more  and  more.     It  was,  I 
think,  on  the  occasion  of  a  party  given  one  of  these  evc- 
13 


146  JOHN    STERLING. 

nings  at  bis  Father's,  Avhere  I  remember  John  Mill,  John 
Crawford,   Mrs.   Crawford,   and  a  number  of  joung   and 
elderly  figures  of  distinction, — that  a  group  having  formed 
on  the  younger  side  of  the  room,  and  transcendentalisms 
and  theologies  forming  the  topic,  a  number  of  deep  things 
■were  said  in  abrupt  conversational  style,  Sterling  in  the 
thick  of  it.     For  example,  one  sceptical  figure  praised  the 
Church    of  England,    in   Hume's    phrase,  as  '  a  Church 
tending  to  keep  down  fanaticism,'  and  recommendable  for 
its  very  indifferency  ;  whereupon  a  transcendental  figure 
urges  him :  "  you  are  afraid  of  the  horse's  kicking :  but 
Avill   you  sacrifice  all  quaUties   to  being  safe  from  that? 
Then  get  a  dead  horse.     None  comparable  to  that  for  not 
kicking  in  your  stable  !"     Upon  which,  a  laugh  ;  "with  new- 
laughs  on  other  the  like  occasions  ; — and  at  last,  in  the 
fire  of  some  discussion,  Sterling,  who  was  unusually  elo- 
quent and  animated,  broke  out  with  this  wild  phrase,   "  I 
could  plunge  into  the  bottom  of  Hell,  if  I  were  sure  of 
finding   the   Devil   there   and    getting    him    strangled !" 
Which  produced  the  loudest  laugh  of  all ;  and  had  to  be 
repeated,   on    Mrs.  Crawford's   inquiry,  to  the   house  at 
large ;  and,  creating  among  the    eiders  a  kind  of  silent 
shudder, — though  we  urged  that  the  feat  would  really  be 
a  good  investment  of  human  industry, — checked  or  stopt 
these  theologic  thunders  for  the  evening.     I  still  remem- 
ber Sterling  as  in  one  of  his  most  animated  moods  that 
evening.     He  probably    returned  to  Herstmonceux   next 
day,  where  he  proposed  yet  to  reside  for  some  indefinite 
time. 

Arrived  at  Herstmonceux,  he  had  not  forgotten  us.     One 
of  his  Letters  written  there  soon  after  was  the  following, 


NOT    CURATE.  147 

which  much  entertained  me,  in  various  ways.  It  turns 
on  a  poor  Book  of  mine,  called  Sartor  Resartus  ;  which 
was  not  then  even  a  Book,  but  was  still  hanging  deso- 
lately under  bibliopolic  difficulties,  now  in  its  fourth  or  fifth 
year,  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  river,  as  a  mere  aggregate 
of  Magazine  Articles  ;  having  at  least  been  slit  into  that 
form,  and  lately  completed  so,  and  put  together  into  legi- 
bility. I  suppose  Sterling  had  borrowed  it  of  me.  The 
adventurous  hunter  spirit  which  had  started  such  a  bemired 
Auerochs,  or  Uras  of  the  German  woods,  and  decided  on 
chasing  that  as  game,  struck  me  not  a  little ; — and  the 
poor  Wood-Ox,  so  bemired  in  the  forests,  took  it  as  a  com- 
pliment rather : 

'  To  Thomas  Caiiyle,  Esq.^  Chelsea,  London. 

'  Herstmonceaux  near  Battle,  May  29,  1835. 

'  My  dear  Carlyle, — I  have  now  read  twice,  with 
care,  the  wondrous  account  of  Teufelsdrockh  and  his  Opin- 
ions ;  and  I  need  not  say  that  it  has  given  me  much  to  think 
of.  It  falls  in  with  the  feelings  and  tastes  which  were,  for 
years,  the  ruling  ones  of  my  life  ;  but  which  you  will  not 
be  angry  with  me  when  I  say  that  I  am  infinitely  and 
hourly  thankful  for  having  escaped  from.  Not  that  I  think 
of  this  state  of  mind  as  one  with  which  I  have  no  longer 
any  concern.  The  sense  of  a  oneness  of  life  and  power  in 
all  existence  ;  and  of  a  boundless  exuberance  of  beauty 
around  us,  to  which  most  men  are  well-nigh  dead,  is  a  pos- 
session which  no  one  that  has  ever  enjoyed  it  would  wish  to 
lose.  When  to  this  we  add  the  deep  feeling  of  the  differ- 
ence between  the  actual  and  the  ideal  in  Nature,  and  still 


148  JOHN    STERLING. 

more  in  Man  ;  and  bring  in,  to  explain  this,  the  principle 
of  duty,  as  that  which  connects  us  with  a  possible  Higher 
State,  and  sets  us  in  progress  towards  it, — we  have  a  cycle 
of  thoughts  which  was  the  whole  spiritual  empire  of  the 
wisest  Pagans,  and  which  might  well  supply  food  for  the 
wide  speculations  and  richly  creative  fancy  of  Teufels- 
drockh,  or  his  prototype  Jean  Paul. 

'  How  then  comes  it,  we  cannot  but  ask,  that  these 
ideas,  displayed  assuredly  with  no  want  of  eloquence,  viva- 
city or  earnestness,  have  found,  unless  I  am  much  mista- 
ken, so  little  acceptance  among  the  best  and  most  energet- 
ic minds  in  this  country  ?  In  a  country  where  millions  read 
the  Bible,  and  thousands  Shakspeare  ;  where  Wordsworth 
circulates  through  book-clubs  and  drawing-rooms ;  where 
there  are  innumerable  admirers  of  your  favorite  Burns  ; 
and  where  Coleridge,  by  sending  from  his  solitude  the  voice 
of  earnest  spiritual  instruction,  came  to  be  beloved,  studied 
and  mourned  for,  by  no  small  or  careless  school  of  disci- 
ples ? — To  answer  this  question  would,  of  course,  require 
more  thought  and  knowledge  than  I  can  pretend  to  bring  to 
it.  But  there  are  some  points  on  which  I  will  venture  to 
say  a  few  words. 

'  In  the  first  place,  as  to  the  form  of  composition, — 
which  may  be  called,  I  think,  the  Rhapsodico-Ileflective. 
In  this  the  Sartor  Resarius  resembles  some  of  the  master- 
works  of  human  invention,  Avhich  have  been  acknowledged 
as  such  by  many  generations  ;  and  especially  the  works  of 
Rabelais,  Montaigne,  Sterne  and  Swift.  There  is  nothing 
I  know  of  in  Antiquity  like  it.  That  which  comes  nearest 
is  perhaps  the  Platonic  Dialogue.  But  of  this,  although 
there  is  something  of  the  plaj'ful  and  fanciful  on  the  sur- 


NOT    CURATE.  149 

face,  there  is  in  reality  neither  in  the  language  (which  is 
austerely  determined  to  its  end,)  nor  in  the  method  and 
progression  of  the  work,  any  of  that  headlong  self  asserting 
capriciousness,  which,  if  not  discernible  in  the  plan  of 
Teufelsdrockh's  Memoirs,  is  yet  plainly  to  be  seen  in  the 
structure  of  the  sentences,  the  lawless  oddit^',  and  strange 
heterogeneous  combination  and  allusion.  The  principle  ot 
this  difference,  observable  often  elsewhere  in  modern  litera- 
ture (for  the  same  thing  is  to  be  found,  more  or  less,  in 
many  of  our  most  genial  works  of  imagination, — Don 
Quixote^  for  instance,  and  the  writings  of  Jeremy  Tajlor,) 
seems  to  be  that  well-known  one  of  the  predominant  objec- 
tivity of  the  Pagan  mind;  while  among  us  the  subjective xX"*^ 
has  risen  into  superiority,  and  brought  with  it  in  each  indi- 
vidual a  multitude  of  peculiar  associations  and  relations. 
These,  as  not  exphcable  from  any  one  external  principle 
assumed  as  a  premiss  by  the  ancient  philosopher,  were  re. 
jected  from  the  sphere  of  his  aesthetic  creation  :  but  to  us 
they  all  have  a  valu  e  and  meaning  ;  being  connected  by 
the  bond  of  our  own  personality,  and  all  alike  existing  ia 
that  infinity  which  is  its  arena. 

'  But  however  this  may  be,  and  comparing  the  Teufels- 
drockhean  Epopee  only  with  those  other  modern  works, — 
it  is  noticeable  that  K  abelais,  Montaigne  and  Sterne  have 
trusted  for  the  currency  of  their  writings,  in  a  great  de- 
gree, to  the  use  of  obscene  and  sensual  stimulants.  Rab- 
elais, besides,  was  full  of  contemporary  and  personal  satire ; 
and  seems  to  have  been  a  champion  in  the  great  cause  of 
his  time, — as  was  Monta'gae  a^so, — that  of  the  right  of 
thought  in  all  competent  minds,  unrestrained  by  any  out- 
ward authority.  Montaigne,  moreover,  contains  more 
13* 


150  JOHN    STERLING. 

pleasant  and  lively  gossip,  and  more  distinct  good-humored 
painting  of  his  own  character  and  daily  habits  than  any 
other  writer  I  know.  Sterne  is  never  obscure,  and  never 
moral ;  and  the  costume  of  his  subjects  is  drawn  from  the 
familiar  experience  of  his  own  time  and  country :  and 
Swift,  again,  has  the  same  merit  of  the  clearest  perspicuity, 

joined  to  that  of  the  most  homely,  unaffected,  forcible  Eng- 
lish. These  points  of  difference  seem  to  me  the  chief  ones 
which  bear  against  the  success  of  the  Sartor.  On  the 
other  hand,  there  is  in  Teufelsdrockh  a  depth  and  fervor  of 
fechng,  and  a  power  of  serious  eloquence,  far  beyond  that 
of  any  of  these  four  writers  ;  and  to  which  indeed  there  is 
nothing  at  all  comparable  in  any  of  them,  except  perhaps 
now  and  then,  and  vei-y  imperfectly,  in  Montaigne. 

'  Of  the  other  points  of  comparison  there  are  two  which 
I  would  chiefly  dwell  on  :  and  first  as  to  the  language.  A 
good  deal  of  this  is  positively  barbarous.  "  Envirojyaefit," 
"  vestural,"  "stertorous,"  "  visualised,"  "complected," 
and  others  to  be  found  I  think  in  the  first  twenty  pages, — 
are  words,  so  far  as  I  know,  without  any  authority ;  some 
of  them  contrary  to  analogy ;  and  none  repaying  by  their 
value  the  disadvantage  of  novelty.  To  these  must  be 
added  new  and  erroneous  locutions  :  "  whole  other  tissues" 
for  all  the  other,  and  similar  uses  of  the  word  vjhole  ;  "  ori- 
ents" for  pearls  ;  "  lucid"  and  "  lucent"  employed  as  if 
they  were  diflFerent  in  meaning  ;  "  hulls  "  perpetually  for 
coverings,  it  being  a  v;ord  hardly  used,  and  then  only  for 

■   the  husk  of  a  nut ;  "  to  insure  a  man  of  misapprehension  ;" 

j   "  talented,  "  a  mere  newspaper  and  hustings  word,  invent- 
ed, I  believe,  by  O'Connell. 

'  I  must  also  mention  the  constant  recurrence  of  some 


NOT    CURATE.  151 

■words  in  a  quaint  and  queer  connection,  Avhicli  gives  a 
grotesque  and  somewhat  repulsive  mannerism  to  many  sen- 
tences. Of  these  the  commonest  offender  is  "  quite  ;" 
■which  appears  in  almost  every  page,  and  gives  at  first  a 
droll  kind  of  emphasis ;  but  soon  becomes  -wearisome. 
"  Nay,"  "  manifold,"  "  cunning  enough  significance," 
"  faculty"  (meaning  a  man's  rational  or  moral  jjower)^ 
"  special,"  "  not  without,"  haunt  the  reader  as  if  in  some 
uneasy  dream  which  does  not  rise  to  the  dignity  of  night- 
mare. Some  of  these  strange  mannerisms  fall  under  the 
general  head  of  a  singularity  peculiar,  so  far  as  I  know,  to 
Teufelsdrockh.  For  instance,  that  of  the  incessant  use  of 
a  sort  of  odd  superfluous  qualification  of  his  assertions ; 
■which  seems  to  give  the  character  of  deliberateness  and 
caution  to  the  style,  but  in  time  sounds  like  mere  trick  or 
involuntary  habit.  "  Almost "  does  more  than  yeoman's, 
almost  slave's  service  in  this  way.  Something  similar  may 
be  remarked  of  the  use  of  the  double  negative  by  way  of 
affirmation. 

'  Under  this  head,  of  language,  may  be  mentioned, 
though  not  with  strict  grammatical  accuracy,  two  standing 
characteristics  of  the  Professor's  style, — at  least  as  render- 
ed into  English  :  First,  the  composition  of  words,  such  as 
"  snow-and-roscbloom  maiden  :"  an  attractive  damsel  doubt- 
less in  Germany ;  but,  with  all  her  charms,  somewhat  un- 
couth here.  "  Life-vision"  is  another  example ;  and  many 
more  might  be  found.  To  say  nothing  of  the  innumerable 
cases  in  which  the  wor.ds  are  only  intelligible  as  a  com- 
pound term,  though  not  distinguished  by  hyphens.  Of 
course  the  composition  of  words  is  sometimes  allowable  even 
in  English :  but  the  habit  of  dealing  with  German  seems  to 


152  JOHN    STERLING. 

have  produced,  in  the  pages  hefore  us,  a  prodigious  super- 
abundance of  this  form  of  expression  ;  which  gives  harsh- 
ness and  strangeness,  where  the  matter  would  at  all  events 
have  been  surprising  enough.  Secondly^  I  object,  with  the 
same  qualification,  to  the  frequent  use  of  inversion  ;  which 
generally-  appears  as  a  transposition  of  the  two  members  of 
a  clause,  in  a  way  which  would  not  have  been  practiced  in 
conversation.  It  certainly  gives  emphasis  and  force,  and 
often  serves  to  point  the  rneaning.  But  a  style  may  be 
fatiguing  and  faulty  precisely  by  being  too  emphatic,  forci- 
ble and  pointed ;  and  so  straining  the  attention  to  find  its 
meaning,  or  the  admiration  to  appreciate  its  beauty. 

'  Another  class  of  considerations  connects  itself  with  the 
heightened  and  plethoric  fullness  of  the  style  :  its  accumu- 
lation and  contrast  of  imagery ;  its  occasional  jerking  and 
almost  spasmodic  violence ; — and  above  all,  the  painful 
subjective  excitement,  which  seems  the  element  and  ground- 
work even  of  every  description  of  Nature  ;  often  taking  the 
shape  of  sarcasm  or  broad  jest,  but  never  subsiding  into 
calm.  There  is  also  a  point  which  I  should  think  worth  at- 
tending to,  were  I  planning  any  similar  book  :  I  mean  the 
importance  in  a  work  of  imagination,  of  not  too  much  dis- 
turbing in  the  reader's  mind  the  balance  of  the  New  and 
Old.  The  former  addresses  itself  to  his  active,  the  latter 
to  his  passive  faculty ;  and  these  are  mutually  dependent, 
and  must  co-exist  in  certain  proportion,  if  you  wish  to  com- 
bine his  sympathy  and  progressive  exertion  with  willingness 
and  ease  of  attention.  This  should  be  taken  into  account 
in  forming  a  style ;  for  of  course  it  cannot  be  consciously 
thought  of  in  composing  each  sentence. 

'  But  chiefly  it  seems  important  in  determining  the  plan 


NOT    CURATE.  153 

of  a  work.  If  the  tone  of  feeling,  the  Ihie  of  speculation 
arc  out  of  the  common  way,  and  sure  to  present  some  diffi- 
culty to  the  average  reader,  then  it  would  probably  be 
desirable  to  select,  for  the  circumstances,  drapery  and 
accessories  of  all  kinds,  those  most  familiar,  or  at  least 
most  attractive.  A  fable  of  the  homeliest  purport,  and 
commonest  every-day  appHcation,  derives  an  interest  and 
charm  from  its  turning  on  the  characters  and  acts  of  gods 
and  genii,  lions  and  foxes,  Arabs  and  Aflfghauns.  On  the 
contrary,  for  philosophic  inquiry  and  truths  of  awful  pre- 
ciousness,  I  would  select  as  my  personages  and  interlocu- 
tors beings  with  whose  language  and  "  whereabouts  "  my 
readers  would  be  familiar.  Thus  did  Plato  in  his  Dialogues, 
Christ  in  his  Parables.  Therefore  it  seems  doubtful  whether 
it  was  judicious  to  make  a  German  Professor  the  hero  of 
Sarto7\  Berkeley  began  his  Siris  with  tar-water  ;  but  what 
can  English  readers  be  expected  to  make  of  Criihguh  by 
way  of  prelibation  to  your  nectar  and  tokay  ?  The  circum- 
stances and  details  do  not  flash  with  living  reality  on  the 
minds  of  your  readers,  but  on  the  contrary  themselves 
require  some  of  that  attention  and  minute  speculation,  the 
whole  original  stock  of  which,  in  the  minds  of  most  of  them, 
would  not  be  too  much  to  enable  them  to  follow  your  views 
of  Man  and  Nature.  In  short,  there  is  not  a  sufiicient 
basis  of  the  common  to  justify  the  amount  of  peculiarity  in 
the  work.  In  a  book  of  science,  these  considerations 
would  of  course  be  inapplicable  ;  but  then  the  whole  shape 
and  coloring  of  the  book  must  be  altered  to  make  it  such  ; 
and  a  man  who  wishes  merely  to  get  at  the  philosophical 
result,  or  summary  of  the  whole,  will  regard  the  details  and 
illustrations  as  so  much  unprofitable  surplusage. 


154  JOHN    STERLING. 

'  The  sense  of  strangeness  is  also  awakened  by  the  mar- 
velous combinations,  in  which  the  work  abounds  to  a  degree 
that  the  common  reader  must  find  perfectly  bewildering. 
This  can  hardly,  however,  be  treated  as  a  consequence  of 
the  style ;  for  the  style  in  this  respect  coheres  with,  and 
springs  from,  the  whole  turn  and  tendency  of  thought. 
The  noblest  images  are  objects  of  a  humorous  smile,  in  a 
mine  which  sees  itself  above  all  Nature  and  tlironed  in  the 
arms  of  an  Almighty  Necessity  ;  while  the  meanest  have  a 
dignity,  inasmuch  as  they  are  trivial  symbols  of  the  same 
one  life  to  which  the  great  whole  belongs.  And  hence,  as 
I  divine,  the  startling  whirl  of  incongruous  juxtaposition, 
which  of  a  truth  must  to  many  readers  seem  as  amazing  as 
if  the  Pythia  on  the  tripod  should  have  struck  up  a  drink- 
ing song,  or  Thersites  had  caught  the  prophetic  strain  of 
Cassandra. 

'  All  this,  of  course,  appears  to  me  true  and  relevant  ; 
but  I  cannot  help  feehng  that  it  is,  after  all,  but  a  poor 
piece  of  quackery  to  comment  on  a  multitude  of  phenomena 
without  adverting  to  the  principle  which  lies  at  the  root, 
and  gives  vne  true  meaning  to  them  all.  Now  this  princi- 
ple I  seem  to  myself  to  find  in  the  state  of  mind  which  is 
attributed  to  Teufelsdiockh  ;  in  his  state  of  mind,  I  say, 
not  in  his  opinions,  though  these  are,  in  him  as  in  all  men, 
most  important, — being  one  of  the  best  indices  to  his  state 
of  mind.  Now  what  distinguishes  him,  not  merely  from 
the  greatest  and  best  men  who  have  been  on  earth  for 
eighteen  hundred  years,  but  from  the  whole  body  of  those 
who  have  been  working  forwards  towards  the  good,  and 
have  been  the  salt  and  light  of  the  world,  is  this :    ThatJi^ 


NOT    CUKATE.  155 

docs  not  believe  in  a  God.  Do  not  be  Indicant,  I  am 
blaming  no  one  ; — but  if  I  write  my  thoughts,  1  must  wiite 
them  honestly. 

'  Teufclsdrockh  does  not  belong  to  the  herd  of  sensual 
and  thoughtless  men  ;  because  he  does  perceive  in  all  Ex- 
istence a  unity  of  power ;  because  he  does  believe  that  this 
is  a  real  power  external  to  him  and  dominant  to  a  certain 
extent  over  him,  and  does  not  think  that  he  is  himself  a 
shadow  in  a  world  of  shadows.  He  has  a  deep  feeling  of 
the  beautiful,  the  good  and  the  true ;  and  a  faith  in  their 
final  victory. 

'  At  the  same  time,  hoAv  evident  is  the  strong  inward 
unrest,  the  Titanic  heaving  of  mountain  on  mountain  ;  the 
storm-like  rushing  over  land  and  sea  in  search  of  peace. 
He  writhes  and  roars  under  his  consciousness  of  the  diflfer- 
ence  in  himself  between  the  possible  and  the  actual,  the 
hoped-for  and  the  existent.  He  feels  that  duty  is  the 
hiiflie^  la^y  of  his  own  being  ;  and  knowing  how  it  bids  the 
"waves  be  stilldl  into  aii  icy  fixedness  and  grandeur,  he 
trusts  (but  with  a  boundless  inward  misgiving)  that  there 
is  a  principle  of  order  which  will  reduce  all  confusion  to 
shape  and  clearness.  But  wanting  peace  himself,  his  fierce 
dissatisfaction  fixes  on  all  that  is  weak,  corrupt  and  imper- 
fect around  him  ;  and  insteador^"°caTnranTsteaay  co  op- 
eration  with  all  those  who  are  endeavoring  to  apply  the 
highest  ideas  as  remedies  for  the  worst  evils,  .he  holds  him- 
self aloof  in  savage  isolation  ;  and  cherishes  (though  he 
dare  not  own)  a  stern  joy  at  the  prospect  of  that  Catas- 
trophe which  is  to  turn  l/josc  again  the  elements  of  man's 
social  life,  and  give  for  a  time  the  victory  to  evil ; — in 
hopes  that  each  new  convulsion  of  the  world  must  bring  us 


156  JOON    STERLING. 

nearer  to  the  ultimate  restoration  of  all  things ;  fancying 
that  each  may  be  the  last.  Wanting  the  calm  and  cheerful 
reliance,  which  livould  be  the  spring  of  active  exertion,  he 
flatters  his  o\Yn  distemper  bj  persuading  himself  that  his 
own  age  and  generation  are  peculiarly  feeble  and  decayed ; 
and  would  even  perhaps  be  willing  to  exchange  the  restless 
immaturity  of  our  self  consciousness,  and  the  promise  of  its 
long  throe-pangs,  for  the  unawakened  undoubting  simplicity 
of  the  world's  childhood  ;  of  the  times  in  which  there  was 
all  the  evil  and  horror  of  our  day,  only  with  the  difference 
that  conscience  had  not  arisen  to  try  and  condemn  it.  In 
these  longings,  if  they  are  Teufelsdrockh's,  he  seems  to 
forget  that,  could  we  go  back  five  thousand  years,  we 
should  only-  have  the  prospect  of  traveling  them  again, 
and  arriving  at  last  at  the  same  point  at  which  we  stand 
now. 

'  Something  of  this  state  of  mind  I  may  say  that  I  under- 
stand ;  for  I  have  myself  experienced  it.  And  the  root  of 
the  matter  appears  to  me  :  A  want  of  sympathy  with  the 
great  body  of  those  who  are  now  endeavoring  to  guide  and 
help  onward  their  fellow  men.  And  in  what  is  this  aliena- 
tion grounded  ?  It  is,  as  I  believe,  simply  in  the  difference 
on  that  point :  viz.  the  clear,  deep,  habitual  recognition  of 
a  one  Living  Personal  God,  essentially  good,  wise,  true 
and  holy,  the  Author  of  all  that  exists  ;  and  a  reunion  with 
whom  is  the  only  end  of  all  rational  beings.  This  belief 
*  *  *  \_There  folloiv  now  several  pages  on  '  Personal  Grod^ 
and  other  abstruse  or  indeed  2^Toperly  unspeakable  matters  ; 
these,  and  a  general  Postscript  of  qualifying  purport,  I 
will  suppress ;  extracting  only  the  folloiving  fractions,  as 
luminous  or  slightly  significant  to  us  :] 


NOT    CURATE.  157 

'  Now  see  the  difference  of  Teufelsdrockh's  feelings. 
At  the  end  of  book  iii.  chap.  8,  I  find  these  words  :  "  But 
whence  ?  0  Heaven,  whither  ?  Sense  knows  not ;  Faith 
knows  not ;  only  that  it  is  through  mystery  to  mystery, 
from  God  to  God. 

'  We  are  such  stuff 
As  dreams  are  made  of,  and  our  little  life 
Is  rounded  with  a  sleep.'  " 

'  And  this  talHes  with  the  whole  strain  of  his  character. 
AYhat  we  find  everywhere,  with  an  abundant  use  of  the 
name  of  God,  is  the  conception  of  a  formless  Infinite  whether 
in  time  or  space ;  of  a  high  inscrutable  Necessity,  which  it 
is  the  chief  wisdom  and  virtue  to  submit  to,  which  is  the 
mysterious  impersonal  base  of  all  Existence, — shews  itself 
in  the  laws  of  every  separate  being's  nature  ;  and  for  man 
in  the  shape  of  duty.  On  the  other  hand,  I  affirm,  we  do 
know  whence  we  come  and  whither  we  go  !' — 

*  *   *     <  j^jj(j  j^  ^jjjg  gj-j^^Q  Qf  mind,  as  there  is  no  true 

sympathy  with  others,  just  as  little  is  there  any  true  peace 
for  ourselves.  There  is  indeed  possible  the  unsympathizing 
factitious  calm  of  Art,  which  we  find  in  Goethe.  But  at 
what  expense  is  it  bought  ?  Simply,  by  abandoning  alto- 
gether the  idea  of  dutv,  which  is  the  great  witness  of  our 
personality.  And  he  attains  his  inhuman  ghastly  calmness 
by  reducing  the  Universe  to  a  heap  of  material  for  the  idea 
of  beauty  to  work  on.' — 

*  *  *  '  The  sum  of  all  I  have  been  writing,  as  to  the 
connection  of  our  faith  in  God  with  our  feeling  towards 
men  and  our  mode  of  action,  may  of  course  be  quite  erro- 
neous :  but  granting  its  truth,  it  would   supply  the  one 

14 


158  JOHN    STEELING. 

principle  -which  I  have  been  seeking  for,  in  order  to  explain 
the  peculiarities  of  stjle  in  jour  account  of  Teufelsdrockh 
and  his  writings.'  *  *  *  '  The  life  and  works  of  Luther 
are  the  best  comment  I  know  of  on  this  doctrine  of  mine. 

'  Reading  over  what  I  have  written,  I  find  I  have  not 
nearly  done  justice  to  my  own  sense  of  the  genius  and 
moral  energy  of  the  book  ;  but  this  is  what  you  will  best 
excuse. — Believe  me  most  sincerely  and  faithfully  yours, 

'  John  Sterling.' 


Here  are  sufficient  points  of  '  discrepancy  with  agree- 
ment,' here  is  material  for  talk  and  argument  enough ;  and 
an  expanse  of  free  discussion  open,  which  requires  rather  to 
be  speedily  restricted  for  convenience'  sake,  than  allowed 
to  widen  itself  into  the  boundless  as  it  tends  to  do  ! — 

In  all  Sterling's  Letters  to  myself  and  others,  a  large 
collection  of  which  now  lies  before  me,  duly  copied  and 
indexed,  there  is,  to  one  that  knew  his  speech  as  well,  a 
perhaps  unusual  likeness  between  the  speech  and  the 
Letters ;  and  yet,  for  the  most  part,  with  a  great  inferiority 
on  the  part  of  these.  These,  thrown  off,  one  and  all  of 
them,  without  premeditation,  and  with  most  rapid  flowing 
pen,  are  naturally  as  like  his  speech  as  writing  can  well  be  ; 
this  is  their  grand  merit  to  us :  but;'  on  the  other  hand,  the 
want  of  the  living  tones,  swift  looks  and  motions,  and  mani- 
fold dramatic  accompaniments,  tells  heavily,  more  heavily 
than  common.  What  can  be  done  with  champagne  itself, 
much  more  Avith  soda-water,  when  the  gaseous  spirit  is  fled  ! 
The  reader,  in  any  specimens  he  may  see,  must  bear  this 
in  mind. 


NOT    CURATE.  159 

Meanwhile  these  Letters  do  excel  in  honesty,  in  candor 
and  transparency  ;  their  very  carelessness  secures  their 
excellence  in  this  respect.  And  in  another  much  deeper 
and  more  essential  respect  I  must  likewise  call  them  excel- 
lent,— in  their  childlike  goodness,  in  the  purity  of  heart, 
the  nohle  affection  and  fidelity  they  everywhere  manifest  in 
the  wrFter.  This  often  touchingly  strikes  a  familiar  friend 
in  reading  them  ;  and  will  awaken  reminiscences  (when 
you  have  the  commentary  in  your  own  memory)  which  are 
sad  and^beautiful,  and  not  without  reproach  to  you  on  occa- 
sion. To  all  friends,  and  all  good  causes,  this  man  is  true  ; 
behind  their  back  as  before  their  face,  the  same  man ! — 
Such  traits  of  the  autobiographic  sort,  from  these  Letters, 
as  can  serve  to  paint  him  or  his  life,  and  promise  not  to 
■weary  the  reader,  I  must  endeavor  to  select,  in  the  sequel. 


160  JOHN    STERLING. 


CHAPTER    III. 


BAYSWATER. 


Sterling  continued  to  reside  at  Herstmonceux  through 
the  spring  and  summer ;  holding  by  the  peaceable  retired 
house  he  still  had  there,  till  the  vague  future  might  more 
definitely  shape  itself,  and  better  point  out  what  place  of 
abode  would  suit  him  in  his  new  circumstances.  He  made 
frequent  brief  visits  to  London ;  in  which  I,  among  other 
friends,  frequently  saw  him,  our  acquaintance  at  each  visit 
improving  in  all  ways.  Like  a  swift  dashing  meteor  he 
came  into  our  circle  ;  coruscated  among  us,  for  a  day  or 
two,  with  sudden  pleasant  illumination  ;  then  again  sud- 
denly withdrew, — we  hoped,  not  for  long. 

I  suppose,  he  was  full  of  uncertainties  ;  but  undoubtedly 
was  gravitating  towards  London.  Yet,  on  the  whole,  on 
the  surface  of  him,  you  saw  no  uncertainties  ;  far  from 
that :  it  seemed  always  rather  with  peremptory  resolutions, 
and  swift  express  businesses,  that  he  was  charged.  Sickly 
in  body,  the  testimony  said  :  but  here  always  was  a  mind 
that  gave  you  the  impression  of  peremptory  alertness, 
cheery  swift  decision, — of  a  health  which  you  might  have 
called  exuberant.  I  remember  dialogues  with  him,  of  that 
year ;  one  pleasant  dialogue  under  the  trees  of  the  Park 
(where  now,  in  1851,  is  the  thing  called  '  Crystal  Palace'), 
with  the  June  sunset  flinging  long  shadows  for  us ;  the  last 
of  the  Quality  just .  vanishing  for  dinner,  and  the  great 


BAYSWATER.  161 

Night  beginning  to  prophesy  of  itself.  Our  talk  (like  thnt 
of  the  foregoing  Letter)  was  of  the  faults  of  my  style,  of 
my, way  of  thinking,  of  my  kc.  &c.  ;  all  which  admonitions 
and  remonstrances,  so  friendly  and  innocent,  from  this 
young  junior-senior,  I  was  willing  to  listen  to,  though 
unable,  as  usual,  to  get  almost  any  practical  hold  of  them. 
As  usual  the  garments  do  not  fit  you,  you  are  lost  in  the 
garments,  or  you  cannot  get  into  them  at  all  ;  this  is  not 
your  suit  of  clothes,  it  must  be  another's  : — alas,  these  are 
not  your  dimensions,  these  are  only  the  optical  angles  you 
subtend  ;  on  the  whole,  you  will  never  get  measured  in 
that  way  ! — 

Another  time,  of  date  probably  very  contiguous,  I 
remember  hearing  Sterling  preach.  It  was  in  some  new 
College-chapel  in  Somerset  House  (I  suppose,  what  is  now 
called  Queen's  college)  ;  a  very  quiet  small  place,  the 
audience  student-looking  youths,  with  a  few  elder  people, 
perhaps  mostly  friends  of  the  preacher's.  The  discourse, 
delivered  with  a  grave  sonorous  composure,  and  far  sur- 
passing in  talent  the  usual  run  of  sermons,  had  withal  an 
air  of  human  veracity  as  I  still  recollect,  and  bespoke  dig- 
nity and  piety  of  mind :  but  gave  me  the  impression  rather 
of  artistic  excellence  than  of  unction  or  inspiration  in  that 
kind.  Sterling  returned  with  us  to  Chelsea  that  day ; 
— and  in  the  afternoon  we  went  on  the  Thames  Putney- 
ward  together,  we  two  with  my  Wife  ;  under  the  sunny 
skies,  on  the  quiet  water,  and  with  copious  cheery  talk,  the 
remembrance  of  which  is  still  present  enough  to  me. 

This    was    properly   my   only   specimen    of    Sterling's 
preaching.     Another  time,  late  in  the  same  autumn,  I  did 
indeed  attend  him  one   evening  to   some  Church  in  the 
14* 


162  JOHN    STERLING. 

Citj, — a  big  Church  behind  Cheapside,  "  built  by  Wren  " 
as  he  carefully  informed  me  ; — but  there,  in  my  -wearied 
mood,  the  chief  subject  of  reflection  was  the  almost  total 
vacancy  of  the  place,  and  how  an  eloquent  soul  was  preach- 
ing to  mere  lamps  and  prayer-books :  and  of  the  sermon  I 
retain  no  image.  It  came  up  in  the  Avay  of  banter,  if  he 
ever  urged  the  duty  of  '  Church  extension,'  which  already 
he  very  seldom  did  and  at  length  never,  what  a  specimen 
we  once  had  of  bright  lamps,  gilt  prayer-books,  baize-lined 
pews.  Wren-built  architecture ;  and  how,  in  almost  all 
directions,  you  might  have  fire^  a  musket  through  the 
church,  and  hit  no  Christian  life.  A  terrible  outlook 
indeed  for  the  Apostolic  laborer  in  the  brick-and-mortar 
line ! — 

In  the  Autumn  of  this  same  1835,  he  removed  perma- 
nently to  London,  whither  all  summer  he  had  been  evidently 
tending ;  took  a  house  in  Bayswater,  an  airy  suburb,  half 
town,  half  country,  near  his  Father's,  and  within  fair  dis- 
tance of  his  other  friends  and  objects ;  and  decided  to  await 
there  what  the  ultimate  developments  of  his  course  might 
be.  His  house  was  in  Orme  Square,  close  by  the  corner 
of  that  little  place  (which  has  only  th^^ee  sides  of  houses)  ; 
its  windows  looking  to  the  east :  the  Number  was,  and  I 
believe  still  is.  No.  5.  A  sufficiently  commodious,  by  no 
means  sumptuous,  small  mansion  ;  where,  with  the  means 
sure  to  him,  he  could  calculate  on  finding  adequate  shelter 
for  his  family,  his  books  and  himself,  and  live  in  a  decent 
manner,  in  no  terror  of  debt,  for  one  thing.  His  income,  I 
suppose,  was  not  large  ;  but  he  lived  generally  a  safe  dis- 
tance within  it ;    and  shewed   himself  always   as  a  man 


BAYSWATER.  163 

bountiful  in  money  matters,  and  taking  no  thought  that 
way. 

His  study-room  in  this  house  was  perhaps  mainly  the 
drawing-room  ;  looking  out  safe,  over  the  little  dingy  grass- 
plot  in  front,  and  the  quiet  little  row  of  houses  opposite, 
with  the  huge  dust-whirl  of  Oxford  Street  and  London  far 
enough  ahead  of  you  as  back-ground, — as  back-curtain, 
blotting  out  only  half  your  blue  hemisphere  Avith  dust  and 
smoke.  On  the  right,  you  had  the  continuous  growl  of  the 
Uxbridge  Road  and  its  wheels,  coming  as  lullaby  not  inter- 
ruption. Leftward  and  rearward,  after  some  thin  belt  of 
houses,  lay  mere  country  ;  bright  sweeping  green  expanses, 
crowned  by  pleasant  Harapstead,  pleasant  Harrow,  with 
their  rustic  steeples  rising  against  the  sky.  Here  on  win- 
ter evenings,  the  bustle  of  removal  being  all  well  ended, 
and  family  and  books  got  planted  in  their  new  places, 
friends  could  find  Sterling,  as  they  often  did,  who  was 
delighted  to  be  found  by  them,  and  would  give  and  take, 
vividly  as  few  others,  an  hour's  good  talk  at  any  time. 

His  outlooks,  it  must  be  admitted,  were  sufficiently  vague 
and  overshadowed  ;  neither  the  past  nor  the  future  of  a  too 
joyful  kind.  Public  life,  in  any  professional  form,  is  quite 
forbidden  ;  to  work  with  his  fellows  any  where  appears  to 
be  forbidden :  nor  can  the  humblest  solitary  endeavor  to 
work  worthily  as  yet  find  an  arena.  How  unfold  one's 
little  bit  of  talent ;  and  live,  and  not  lie  sleeping,  while  it  is 
called  Today  ?  As  Radical,  as  Reforming  Politician  in  any 
public  or  private  form, — not  only  has  this,  in  Sterling's 
case,  received  tragical  sentence  and  execution  ;  but  the  op- 
posite extreme,  the  Church  whither  he  had  fled,  likewise 
proves  abortive  :  the  Church  also  is  not  the  haven  for  him 


164  JOHN     STERLING. 

at  all.  What  is  to  be  done  ?  Something  must  be  done,  and 
soon, — under  penalties.  Whoever  has  received,  on  him 
there  is  an  inexorable  behest  to  give,  "  Fais  ton  fait,  Do 
thy  little  stroke  of  work  :"  this  is  Nature's  voice,  and  the 
sum  of  all  the  commandments,  to  each  man ! 

A  shepherd  of  the  people,  some  small  Agamemnon  after 
his  sort,  doing  what  little  sovereignty  and  guidance  he  can 
in  his  day  and  generation  :  such  every  gifted  soul  longs, 
and  should  long,  to  be.  But  how,  in  any  measure,  is  the 
small  kingdom  necessary  for  Sterling  to  be  attained  ?  Not 
through  newspapers  and  parliaments,  not  by  rubrics  and 
reading-desks  :  none  of  the  sceptres  offered  in  the  world's 
marketplace,  nor  none  of  the  crosiers  there,  it  seems,  can 
be  the  shepherd's  crook  for  this  man.  A  most  cheerful, 
hoping  man  ;  and  full  of  swift  faculty,  though  much  lamed, 
— considerably  bewildered  too ;  and  tending  rather  towards 
the  wastes  and  solitary  places  for  a  home ;  the  paved  world 
not  being  friendly  to  him  hitherto  !  The  paved  world,  in 
fact,  both  on  its  practical  and  spiritual  side  slams-to  its 
doors  against  him  ;  indicates  that  he  cannot  enter,  and  even 
must  not, — that  it  will  prove  a  choke-vault,  deadly  to  soul 
and  to  body,  if  he  enter.  Sceptre,  crosier,  sheepcrook  is 
none  there  for  him. 

There  remains  one  other  implement,  the  resource  of  all 
Adam's  posterity  that  are  otherwise  foiled, — the  Pen.  It 
was  evident  from  this  point  that  Sterling,  however  other- 
wise beaten  about,  and  set  fluctuating,  would  gravitate 
steadily  with  all  his  real  weight  towards  Literature.  That 
he  would  gradually  try  with  consciousness  to  get  into  Liter- 
ature ;  andj  on  the  whole,  never  quit  Literature,  which  was 


EAYSWATER.  165 

now  all  the  world  for  liim.  Such  is  accordingly  the  sura  of 
his  history  henceforth :  such  small  sum,  so  terribly  ob- 
structed and  diminished  by  circumstances,  is  all  we  have 
realized  from  him. 

Sterling  had  by  no  means  as  yet  consciously  quitted  the 
clerical  profession,  far  less  the  Church  as  a  creed.  We 
have  seen,  he  occasionally  officiated  still  in  these  months, 
when  a  friend  requested  or  an  opportunity  invited.  Nay  it 
turned  out  afterwards,  he  had,  unknown  even  to  his  own 
family,  during  a  good  many  weeks  in  the  coldest  period  of 
next  spring,  when  it  was  really  dangerous  for  his  health 
and  did  prove  hurtful  to  it, — been  constantly  performing  the 
morning  service  in  some  Chapel  in  Bayswater,  for  a  young 
clerical  neighbor,  a  slight  acquaintance  of  his,  who  was 
sickly  at  the  time.  So  far  as  I  know,  this  of  the  Bays- 
water  Chapel  in  the  spring  of  1836,  a  feat  severely  rebuked 
by  his  Doctor  withal,  was  his  last  actual  service  as  a  church- 
man. But  the  conscious  life  ecclesiastical  still  hung  visibly 
about  his  inner  unconscious  and  real  life,  for  years  to  come  ; 
and  not  till  by  slow  degrees  he  had  unwiuded  from  him  the 
wrappages  of  it,  could  he  become  clear  about  himself,  and 
so  much  as  try  heartily  what  his  now  sole  course  was. 
Alas,  and  he  had  to  live  all  the  rest  of  his  days,  as  in  con- 
tinual flight  for  his  very  existence  ;  '  ducking  under  like  a 
poor  unfledged  partridge-bird,'  as  one  described  it,  '  before 
the  mower ;  darting  continually  from  nook  to  nook,  and 
there  crouching,  to  escape  the  scythe  of  Death.'  For  Lit- 
erature Proper  there  was  but  little  left  in  such  a  life.  Only 
the  smallest  broken  fractions  of  his  last  and  heaviest-laden 
years  can  poor  Sterling  be  said  to  have  completely  lived. 


166  JOHN    STERLING. 

His  purpose  had  risen  before  him  slowly  in  noble  clearness  ; 
clear  at  last, — and  even  then  the  inevitable  hour  was  at 
hand. 

In  those  first  London  months,  as  always  afterwards  while 
it  remained  physically  possible,  I  saw  much  of  him  ;  loved 
him,  as  was  natural,  more  and  more ;  found  in  him,  many 
ways,  a  beautiful  acquisition  to  my  existence  here.  He 
was  full  of  bright  speech  and  argument;  radiant  with 
arrowy  vitalities,  vivacities  and  ingenuities.  Less  than  any 
man  he  gave  you  the  idea  of  ill-health.  Hopeful,  sanguine  ; 
nay  he  did  not  even  seem  to  need  definite  hope,  or  much 
to  form  any  ;  projecting  himself  in  aerial  pulses  like  an 
aurora  borealis,  like  a  summer  dawn,  and  filling  all  the 
world  with  present  brightness  for  himself  and  others.  Ill- 
health  ?  Nay  you  found  at  last,  it  was  the  very  excess  of 
life  in  him  that  brought  on  disease.  This  restless  play  of 
being,  fit  to  conquer  the  world,  could  it  have  been  held  and 
guided,  could  not  be  held.  It  had  worn  holes  in  the  outer 
case  of  it,  and  there  found  vent  for  itself, — there,  since  not 
otherwise. 

-  In  our  many  promenades  and  colloquies,  which  were  of 
the  freest,  most  copious  and  pleasant  nature,  religion  often 
formed  a  topic,  and  perhaps  towards  the  beginning  of  our 
intercourse  was  the  prevailing  topic.  Sterling  seemed 
much  engrossed  in  matters  theological,  and  led  the  conver- 
sation towards  such  ;  talked  often  about  Church,  Christi- 
anity Anglican  and  other,  how  essential  the  belief  in  it  to 
man  ;  then,  on  the  other  side,  about  Pantheism  and  such 
like : — all  in  the  Coleridge  dialect,  and  with  eloquence  and 
volubility  to  all  lengths.  I  remember  his  insisting  often 
and  with  emphasis  on  what  he  called  a  "  personal  God," 


BAYSWATER. 


167 


and  other  high  topics,  of  -R-bich  it  vras  not  always  pleasant 
to  give  account  in  the  argumentative  form,  in  a  loud  hur- 
ried voice,  walking  and  arguing  through  the  fields  or 
streets.  Though  of  warm  quick  feelings,  very  positive  in 
his  opinions,  and  vehemently  eager  to  convince  and  conquer 
in  such  discussions,  I  seldom  or  never  saw  the  least  anger 
in  him  against  me  or  any  friend.  When  the  blows  of  con- 
tradiction came  too  thick,  he  could  with  consummate  dex- 
terity whisk  aside  out  of  their  way  ;  prick  into  his  adversary 
on  some  new  quarter  ;  or  gracefully  flourishing  his  weapon, 
end  the  duel  in  some  handsome  manner.  One  angry 
glance  I  remember  in  him,  and  it  was  but  a  glance,  and 
gone  in  a  moment.  "  Fiat  Pantheism ! "  urged  he  once 
(which  he  would  often  enough  do  about  this  time),  as  if 
triumphantly,  of  something  or  other,  in  the  fire  of  a  debate, 
in  my  hearing  :  "■  It  is  mere  Pantheism,  that !  " — "  And 
suppose  it  were  Pot-theism  ?  "  cried  the  other :  "  If  the 
thing  is  true  !  " — Sterling  did  look  hurt  at  such  flippant 
heterodoxy,  for  a  moment.  The  soul  of  his  own  creed,  in 
those  days,  was  far  other  than  this  indifference  to  Pot  or 
Pan  in  such  departments  of  inquiry. 

To  me  his  sentiments  for  most  part  were  lovable  and 
admirable,  though  in  the  logical  outcome  there  was  every- 
where room  for  opposition.  I  admired  the  temper,  the 
longing  towards  antique  heroism,  in  this  young  man  of  the 
nineteenth  century  ;  but  saw  not  how,  except  in  some 
German-English  empire  of  the  air,  he  was  ever  to  realize  it 
on  those  terms.  In  fact,  it  became  clear  to  me  more  and 
more  that  here  was  nobleness  of  heart  striving  towards  all 
nobleness ;  here  was  ardent  recognition  of  the  worth  of 
Christianity,  for  one  thing  ;  but  no  beliet  in  it  at  all,  in  my 


168  'JOHN    STERLING. 

sense  of  the  word  belief, — no  belief  but  one  definable  as 
mere  theoretic  moonshine,  which  would  never  stand  the 
wind  and  weather  of  fact.  Nay  it  struck  me  farther  that 
Sterling's  was  not  intrinsically,  nor  had  ever  been  in  the 
highest  or  chief  degree,  a  devotional  mind.  Of  course  all 
excellence  in  man,  and  worship  as  the  supreme  excellence, 
was  part  of  the  inheritance  of  this  gifted  man  :  but  if  called 
to  define  him,  I  should  say.  Artist  not  Saint  was  the  real 
bent  of  his  being.  He  had  endless  admiration,  but  intrin- 
sically rather  a  deficiency  of  reverence  in  comparison. 
Fear,  with  its  corollaries,  on  the  religious  side,  he  appeared 
to  have  none,  nor  ever  to  have  had  any. 

In  short,  it  was  a  strange  enough  symptom  to  me  of  the 
bewildered  condition  of  the  world,  to  behold  a  man  of  this 
temper,  and  of  this  veracity  and  nobleness,  self-consecrated 
here,  by  free  volition  and  deliberate  selection,  to  be  a 
Christian  Priest ;  and  zealously  struggling  to  fancy  himself 
such  in  very  truth.  Undoubtedly  a  singular  present  fact ; 
— from  which,  as  from  their  point  of  intersection,  great 
perplexities  and  aberrations  in  the  past,  and  considerable 
confusions  in  the  future  might  be  seen  ominously  radiating. 
Happily  our  friend,  as  I  said,  needed  little  hope.  Today 
with  its  activities  was  always  bright  and  rich  to  him.  His 
unmanageable,  dislocated,  devastated  world,  spiritual  or 
economical,  lay  all  illuminated  in  living  sunshine,  making  it 
almost  beautiful  to  his  eyes,  and  gave  him  no  hypochondria. 
A  richer  soul,  in  the  way  of  natural  outfit  for  felicity,  for 
joyful  activity  in  this  world,  so  far  as  his  strength  would  go, 
was  nowhere  to  be  met  with. 

The   Letters   which    Mr.    Hare    has    printed,   Letters 


BAYSWATER.  -  169 

addressed,  I  imagine,  mostly  to  Iiimself,  in  this  and  the 
following  year  or  two,  give  record  of  abundant  changeful 
plannings  and  laborings,  on  the  part  of  Sterling ;  still 
chiefly  in  the  theological  department.  Translation  from 
Tholuck,  from  Schleiermacher  ;  treatise  on  this  thing,  then 
on  that,  are  on  the  anvil :  it  is  a  life  of  abstruse  vague 
speculations,  singularly  cheerful  and  hopeful  withal,  about 
Will,  Morals,  Jonathan  Edwards,  Jewhood,  Manhood,  and 
of  Books  to  be  -written  on  these  topics.  Part  of  which 
adventurous  vague  plans,  as  the  Translation  from  Tholuck, 
lie  actually  performed  ;  other  greater  part,  merging  always 
into  wider  undertakings,  remained  plan  merely.  I  remem- 
ber he  talked  often  about  Tholuck,  Schleiermacher,  and 
others  of  that  stamp  ;  and  looked  disappointed,  though  full 
of  good  nature,  at  my  obstinate  indiflerence  to  them  and 
their  affairs. 

His  knowledge  of  German  Literature,  very  slight  at  this 
time,  limited  itself  altogether  to  writers  on  Church  matters, 
— Evidences,  Counter-Evidences,  Theologies  and  Rumors 
of  Theologies  ;  by  the  Tholucks,  Schleiermachers,  Nean- 
ders,  and  I  know  not  whom.  Of  the  true  sovereign  souls 
of  that  Literature,  the  Goethes,  Richters,  Schillers,  Les- 
sings,  he  had  as  good  as  no  knowledge  ;  and  of  Goethe  in 
particular  an  obstinate  misconception,  with  proper  abhor- 
rence appended, — which  did  not  abate  for  several  years, 
nor  quite  abolish  itself  till  a  very  late  period.  Till,  in  a 
word,  he  got  Goethe's  works  fairly  read  and  studied  for 
himself !  This  was  often  enough  the  course  with  Sterling  in 
such  cases.  He  had  a  most  swift  i2;lance  of  recognition  for 
the  worthy  and  for  the  unworthy  ;  and  was  prone,  in  his 
ardent  decisive  way,  to  put  much  faith  in  it.  "  Such  a  one 
15 


170  JOHN    STERLING. 

is  a  worthless  idol ;  not  excellent,  only  sham-excellent :  " 
here,  on  this  negative  side  especially,  you  often  had  to  ad- 
mire how  right  he  was  ; — often,  but  not  quite  always.  And 
he  would  maintain,  Avith  endless  ingenuity,  confidence  and 
persistence,  his  fallacious  spectrum  to  be  a  real  image. 
However,  it  was  sure  to  come  all  right  in  the  end. 
AVhatever  real  excellence  he  might  misknow,  you  had  but 
to  let  it  stand  before  hirn,  soliciting  new  examination  from 
him  :  none  surer  than  he  to  recognize  it  at  last,  and  to  pay 
it  all  his  dues,  with  the  arrears  and  interest  on  them. 
Goethe,  who  figures  as  some  absurd  high-stalking  hollow 
playactor,  or  empty  ornamental  clockcase  of  an  '  Artist ' 
so-called,  in  the  Tale  of  the  Onyx  Ming,  was  in  the  throne 
of  Sterling's  intellectual  world  before  all  was  done  ;  and 
the  theory  of  '  Goethe's  want  of  feeling,'  want  of  &c.  &c., 
appeared  to  him  also  abundantly  contemptible  and  for- 
getable. 

Sterling's  days,  during  this  time  as  always,  were  full  of 
occupation,  cheerfully  interesting  to  himself  and  others ; 
though,  the  wrecks  of  theology  so  encumbering  him,  little 
fruit  on  the  positive  side  could  come  of  these  labors.  On 
the  negative  side  they  were  productive ;  and  there  also,  so 
much  of  encumbrance  requiring  removal,  before  fruit  could 
grow,  there  was  plenty  of  labor  needed.  He  looked  happy 
as  Avell  as  busy  :  roamed  extensively  among  his  friends,  and 
loved  to  have  them  about  him, — chiefly  old  Cambridge 
comrades  now  settling  into  occupations  in  the  world  ; — and 
was  felt  by  all  friends,  by  myself  as  by  few,  to  be  a  wel- 
come illumination  in  the  dim  whirl  of  things.  A  man  of 
altogether  social  and  human  ways  ;  his  address  everywhere 
pleasant   and  enlivening.      A   certain   smile  of  thin   but 


BAYSWiffER.  ITl 

genuine  laughter,  we  mlgh.t  say,  hung  gracefully  over  all 
he  said  and  did  ; — expressing  gracefully,  according  to  the 
model  of  this  epoch,  the  stoical  pococurantism  Avhich  is 
required  of  the  cultivated  Englishman.  Such  laughter  in 
him  was  not  deep,  but  neither  was  it  false  (as  lamentably 
happens  often)  ;  and  the  cheerfulness  it  went  to  symbolize 
was  hearty  and  beautiful, — visible  in  the  silent  imsymbolized 
state  in  a  still  gracefuller  fashion. 

Of  wit,  so  far  as  rapid  lively  intellect  produces  wit,  he 
had  plenty,  and  did  not  abuse  his  endowment  that  way, 
being  always  fundamentally  serious  in  the  purport  of  his 
speech  :  of  what  we  call  humor  he  had  some,  though  little  ; 
nay  of  real  sense  for  the  ludicrous,  in  any  form,  he  had  not 
much  for  a  man  of  his  vivacity  ;  and  you  remarked  that  his 
laugh  was  limited  in  compass,  and  of  a  clear  but  not  rich 
quality.  To  the  like  effect  shone  something,  a  kind -of 
childlike  half-embarrassed  shimmer  of  expression,  on  his  fine 
vivid  countenance  ;  curiously  mingling  with  its  ardors  and 
audacities.  A  beautiful  childlike  soul !  He  was  naturally 
a  favorite  in  conversation,  especially, wrth  all  who  had  any 
funds  for  conversing  :  frank  and  direct,  yet  polite  and  deli- 
cate withal, — though  at  times  too  he  could  crackle  with  his 
dexterous  petulancies,  making  the  air  all  like  needles  round 
you  ;  and  there  was  no  end  to  his  logic  when  you  excited 
it ;  no  end,  unless  in  some  form  of  silence  on  your  part. 
Elderly  men  of  reputation  I  have  sometimes  known  offended 
by  him ;  for  he  took  a  frank  way  in  the  matter  of  talk ; 
spoke  freely  out  of  him,  freely  listening  to  what  others 
spoke,  with  a  kind  of  "  hail  fellow  well  met "  feeling  ;  and 
carelessly  measured  a  man  much  less  by  his  reputed  account 
in  the  bank  of  wit,  or  in  any  other  bank,  than  by  what  the 


172  JOHN    STERLINa. 

man  had  to  shew  for  himself  in  the  shape  of  real  spiritual 
cash  on  the  occasion.  But  withal  there  was  ever  a  fine 
element  of  natural  courtesy  in  Sterling  ;  his  deliberate  de- 
meanor to  acknowledged  superiors  was  fine  and  graceful ; 
his  apologies  and  the  like,  when  in  a  fit  of  repentance  he 
felt  commanded  to  apologize,  w-ere  full  of  naivetv,  and  very 
pretty  and  ingenuous. 

His  circle  of  friends  was  wide  enough  ;  chiefly  men  of 
his  own  standing,  old  College  friends  many  of  them ;  some 
of  whom  have  now  become  universally  known.  Among 
whom  the  most  important  to  him  was  Frederic  Maurice, 
who  had  not  long  before  removed  to  the  Chaplaincy  of 
Guy's  Hospital  here,  and  was  still,  as  he  had  long  been,  his 
intimate  and  counselor.  Their  views  and  articulate  opin- 
ions, I  suppose,  were  now  fast  beginning  to  diverge  ;  and 
these  went  on  diverging  far  enough  :  but  in  their  kindly 
union,  in  their  perfect  trustful  familiarity,  precious  to  both 
parties,  there  never  was  the  least  break,  but  a  steady, 
equable  and  duly  increasing  current  to  the  end.  One  of 
Sterling's  commonest  expeditions,  in  this  time,  was  a  sally 
to  the -other  side  of  London  Bridge  :  "  Going  to  Guy's  to- 
day." Maurice,  in  a  year  or  two,  became  Sterling's 
brother-in-law ;  wedded  Mrs.  Sterling's  younger  sister, — a 
gentle  excellent  female  soul ;  by  whom  the  relation  was,  in 
many  ways,  strengthened  and  beautified  for  Sterling  and 
all  friends  of  the  parties.  "With  the  Literary  notabilities  I 
think  he  had  no  acquaintance ;  his  thoughts  indeed  still 
tended  rather  towards  a  certain  class  of  the  Clerical ;  but 
neither  had  he  much  to  do  with  these ;  for  he  was  at  no 
time  the  least  of  a  tufthunter,  but  rather  had  a  marked 
natural  indifference  to  tufts. 


BAYSWATER.  173 

The  Rev.  Mr.  Dunn,  a  venerable  and  amiable  Irish  gen- 
tleman, '  distingaishecl,'  we  were  told,  '  by  having  refused 
a  bishopric  ; '-  and  who  was  now  living,  in  an  opulent  enough 
retirement,  amid  his  books  and  philosophies  and  friends,  in 
London, — is  memorable  to  me  among  this  clerical  class ; 
one  of  the  mildest;,  beautifullest  old  men  I  have  ever  seen, 
— "  like  Fenclon,"  Sterling  said  :  his  very  face,  with  its 
kind  true  smile,  with  its  look  of  suffering  cheerfulness  and 
pious  wisdom,  was  a  sort  of  benediction.  It  is  of  him  that 
Sterling  writes,  in  the  Extract  which  Mr.  Hare,  modestly 
reducing  the  name  to  an  initial  '  Mr.  D.,'  has  given  us:* 
'  Mr.  Dunn,  for  instance  ;  the  defect  of  whose  Theology, 
compounded  as  it  is  of  the  doctrine  of  the  Greek  Fathers, 
of  the  Mystics  and  of  Ethical  Philosophers,  consists, — if  I 
may  hint  a  fault  in  one  whose  holiness,  meekness  and  fervor 
would  have  made  him  the  beloved  disciple  of  him  whom 
Jesus  loved, — in  an  insufficient  apprehension  of  the  reality 
and  depth  of  Sin.'  A  characteristic  '  defect'  of  this  fine 
gentle  soul.  On  Mr.  Dunn's  death,  which  occurred  two 
or  three  years  later,  Sterling  gave,  in  some  vailed  yet 
transparent  form,  in  Blaclctoood' s  Magazine,  an  affectionate 
and  eloquent  notice  of  him  ;  which,  stript  of  the  vail,  was 
excerpted  into  the  Newspapers  also.f 

Of  Coleridge  there  was  little  said.  Coleridge  was  now 
dead,  not  long  since  ;  nor  was  his  name  henceforth  much 
heard  in  Sterling's  circle  ;  though  on  occasion,  for  a  year 
or  two  to  come,  he  would  still  assert  his  transcendent  admi- 
ration, especially  if  Maurice  were  by  to  help.  Bat  he  was 
getting  into  German,  into  various  inquiries  and  sources  of 

*  P.  Ixxviii.  t  Given  in  Hare  (ii.  188—193). 

15* 


174  JOHN    STERLING. 

knowledge  new  to  him,  and  liis  admirations  and  notions  on 
many  things  were  silently  and  rapidly  modifying  them- 
selves. 

So  amid  interesting  human  realities,  and  wide  cloud- 
canopies  of  uncertain  speculation,  which  also  had  their 
interests  and  their  rainbow-colors  to  him,  and  could  not  fail 
in  his  life  just  now,  did  Sterling  pass  his  year  and  half  at 
Bayswater.  Such  vaporous  speculations  were  inevitable 
for  him  at  present ;  but  it  was  to  be  hoped  they  would 
subside  by  and  by,  and  leave  the  sky  clear.  All  this  was 
but  the  preliminary  to  whatever  work  might  lie  in  him : — 
and,  alas,  much  other  interruption  lay  between  him  and 
that. 


TO    BORDEAUX.  175 


CHAPTER    IV : 


TO   BORDEAUX. 


Among  the  quondam  Cambridge  acquaintances  I  have 
seen  with  Steriing  about  this  time,  one  struck  me,  less 
from  his  qualities  than  from  his  name  and  genealogy : 
Frank  Edgeworth,  youngest  son  of  the  well-known  Lowell 
Edgeworth,  youngest  brother  of  the  celebrated  Maria  Edge- 
worth,  the  Irish  Novelist.  Frank  was  a  short  neat  man ; 
of  sleek,  square,  colorless  face  (resembling  the  Portraits 
of  his  Father),  with  small  blue  eyes  in  which  twinkled 
curiously  a  joyless  smile  ;  his  voice  was  croaky  and  shrill, 
with  a  tone  of  shrewish  obstinacy  in  it,  and  perhaps  of 
sarcasm  withal.  A  composed,  dogmatic,  speculative,  exact, 
and  not  melodious  man.  He  was  learned  in  Plato  and 
likewise  in  Kant ;  well-read  in  philosophies  and  litera- 
tures ;  entertained  not  creeds,  but  the  Platonic  or  Kan- 
tcan  ghosts  of  creeds ;  coldly  sneering  away  from  him, 
in  the  joyless  twinkle  of  those  eyes,  in  the  inexorable 
jingle  of  that  shrill  voice,  all  manner  of  Toryisms,  super- 
stitions :  for  the  rest,  a  man  of  perfect  veracity,  of  great 
diligence,  and  other  worth ; — notable  to  see  alongside  of 
Sterling. 

He  is  the  '  E.'  quoted  by  IMr.  Hare  from  one  of  Ster- 
ling's letters  ; — and  I  will  incidentally  confess  that  the 
discreet  '  B.'  of  the  next  leaf  in  that  Volume,  must,  if 
need  be,  convert  himself  into  '  C.,'  my  recognizable  self 


176  JOHN    STERLING, 

namelj.  Sterling  has  written  there :  '  I  find  in  all  my 
conversations  with  Carljle  that  his  fundamental  position  is, 
the  good  of  evil :  he  is  forever  quoting  Goethe's  Epigram 
about  the  idleness  of  wishing  to  jump  off  one's  own  shadow.' 
— Even  so  : 

Was  lehr '  ich  dich  vor  alien  Dingen  ? — 

Konntest  mich  Jehren  von  meiner  Schatte  zu  springen ! 

— indicating  conversations  on  the  Origin  of  Evil,  or  rather 
resolution  on  my  part  to  suppress  such,  as  wholly  fruitless 
and  worthless ;  which  are  now  all  grown  dark  to  me  ! 
The  passage  about  Frank  is  as  follows, — likewise  eluci- 
dative of  Sterling  and  his  cloud-compellings,  and  duels 
with  the  shadows,  about  this  time  : 

'  Edgeworth  seems  to  me  not  to  have  yet  gone  be- 
yond a  mere  notional  life.  It  is  manifest  that  he  has  no 
knowledge  of  the  necessity  of  a  progress  from  Wissen 
to  Wesen '  (say  Knotoing  to  Being')  ;  '  and  one  is  there- 
fore not  surprised  that  he  should  think  Kant  a  sufficient 
hierarch.  I  know  very  little  of  Kant's  doctrine  ;  but  I 
made  out  from  Edgeworth  what  seems  to  me  a  funda- 
mental unsoundness  in  his  moral  scheme :  namely  the 
assertion  of  the  certainty  of  a  heavenly  Futurity  for  man, 
because  the  idea  of  duty  involves  that  of  merit  or  reward. 
Now  duty  seems  rather  to  exclude  merit;  and.  at  all 
events,  the  notion  of  external  reward  is  a  mere  empirical 
appendage,  and  has  none  but  an  arbitrary  connection  with 
ethics.  I  regard  it  as  a  very  happy  thing  for  Edgeworth 
that  he  has  come  to  England.  In  Italy  he  probably  would 
never  have  gained  any  intuition  into  the  reality  of  Being 
as  different  from  a  mere  power  of  Speculating  and  Per- 


TO    BORDEAUX.  177 

ceiving  ;  and  of  course  without  this,  he  can  never  reach  to 
more  than  the  merest  Gnosis ;  which  taken  alone  is  a  poor 
inheritance,  a  box  of  title-deeds  to  an  estate  which  is  cov- 
ered with  lava,  or  sunk  under  the  sea.'  * 

This  good  little  Edgeworth  had  roved  extensively  about 
the  Continent ;  had  married  a  young  Spanish  wife,  whom 
by  a  romantic  accident  he  came  upon  in  London :  having 
really  good  scholarship,  and  consciousness  of  faculty  and 
fidelity,  he  now  hoped  to  find  support  in  preparing  young 
men  for  the  University,  in  taking  pupils  to  board ;  and 
with  this  view,  was  endeavoring  to  form  an  establishment 
somewhere  in  the  environs  ; — ignorant  that  it  is  mainly 
the  Clergy  whom  simple  persons  trust  with  that  trade  at 
present ;  that  his  want  of  a  patent  of  orthodoxy,  not  to 
say  his  inexorable  secret  heterodoxy  of  mind,  would  far 
override  all  other  qualifications  in  the  estimate  of  simple 
persons,  who  are  afraid  of  many  things,  and  not  afraid  of 
hypocrisy  which  is  the  worst  and  one  irremediably  bad 
thing.  Poor  Edgeworth  tried  this  business  for  a  while, 
but  found  no  success  at  all ;  went  across,  after  a  year  or 
two,  to  native  Edgeworthstown,  in  Longford,  to  take  the 
management  of  his  brother's  estate ;  in  which  function  it 
was  said  he  shone,  and  had  quite  given  up  philosophies 
and  speculations,  and  become  a  taciturn  grim  landmanager 
and  county  magistrate,  likely  to  do  much  good  in  that 
department ;  when  we  learned  next  that  he  was  dead, 
that  we  should  see  him  no  more.     The  good  little  Frank  ! 

One  day  in  the  spring  of  1836,  I  can  still  recollect, 

*  Hare,  pp.  Ixxiv.  Ixxii. 


178  JOHN     STERLING. 

Sterling  had  proposed  to  me,  by  way  of  wide  ramble, 
useful  for  various  ends,  that  I  should  walk  with  huTi  to 
Ekham  and  back,  to  see  this  Edge  worth,  whom  I  also 
knew  a  little.  We  went  accordingly  together ;  walking 
rapidly,  as  was  Sterling's  wont,  and  no  doubt  talking 
extensively.  It  probably  was  in  the  end  of  February  : 
I  can  remember  leafless  hedges,  gray  driving  clouds  ; — 
procession  of  boarding-school  girls  in  some  quiet  part  of 
the  route.  I  very  well  remember  the  big  Edgeworth 
house  at  Eltham ;  the  big  old  Palace  now  a  barn ; — in 
general,  that  the  day  was  full  of  action  :  and  likewise 
that  rain  came  upon  us  in  our  return,  and  that  the  closing 
phasis  was  a  march  along  Piccadilly,  still  full  of  talk,  but 
now  under  decided  wet,  and  in  altogether  muddy  circum- 
stances. This  was  the  last  walk  that  poor  Sterling  took, 
for  a  great  many  months. 

He  had  been  ailing  for  some  time,  little  known  to  me, 
and  too  disregardful  himself  of  minatory  sym[itoms,  as 
his  wont  was,  so  long  as  strength  remained ;  and  this  rainy 
walk  of  ours  had  now  brought  the  matter  to  a  crisis.  He 
was  shut  up  from  all  visitors  whatsoever  ;  the  doctors  and 
his  family  in  great  alarm  about  him,  he  himself  coldly 
professing  that  death  at  no  great  distance  was  very  likely. 
So  it  lasted  for  a  long  anxious  while.  I  remember  tender 
messages  to  and  from  him  ;  loan  of  books,  particularly, 
some  of  Goethe's  which  he  then  read, — still  Vvithout 
recognition  of  much  worth  in  them.  At  length  some 
select  friends  were  occasionally  admitted ;  signs  of  im- 
provement began  to  appear ; — and  in  the  bright  twilight, 
Kensington  Gardens  Avere  green,  and  sky  and  earth  Avere 
.  hopeful,  as  one  went  to  make  inquiry.     The  summer  bril- 


TO    BORDEAUX.  179 

liancj  was  abroad  over  the  world  before  we  fairly  saw 
Sterlin^r  a;rain  sub  dio.  Here  was  a  fatal  hand  on  the 
wall ;  checking  trngically  whatsoever  wide-drawn  schemes 
might  be  maturing  themselves  in  such  a  life ;  sternly 
admonitory  that  all  schemes  must  be  narrow,  and  admitted 
problematic. 

Sterling,  by  the  doctor's  order,  took  to  daily  riding  in 
summer ;  scouring  far  and  wide  on  a  swift  strong  horse, 
and  was  allowed  no  other  exercise ;  so  that  my  walks  with 
him  had,  to  my  sorrow,  ended.  We  saw  him  otherwise 
pretty  often ;  but  it  was  only  for  moments  in  comparison. 
His  life,  at  any  rate,  in  these  circumstances  was  naturally 
devoid  of  composure.  The  little  Bayswater  establish- 
ment, with  all  its  schemes  of  peaceable  activity  on  the 
small  or  on  the  great  scale,  was  evidently  set  adrift ;  the 
anchor  lifted,  and  Sterling  and  his  family  again  at  sea, 
for  farther  uncertain  voyaging.  Here  is  not  thy  rest ;  not 
here : — where  then  !  The  question,  What  to  do  even  for 
next  autumn  ?  had  become  the  pressing  one. 

A  rich  Bordeaux  merchant,  an  Uncle  of  his  Wife's,  of 
the  name  of  INIr.  Johnston,  possessed  a  sumptuous  mansion 
and  grounds,  which  he  did  not  occupy,  in  the  environs  of 
that  southern  City :  it  was  judged  that  the  climate  might 
be  favorable  ;  to  the  house  and  its  copious  accommodation 
there  was  welcome  ingress,  if  Sterling  chose  to  occupy  it. 
Servants  were  not  needed,  servants  and  conveniences 
enough,  in  the  big  solitary  mansion  with  its  marble  ter- 
races, were  already  there.  Conveniences  enough  within, 
and  curiosities  without.  It  is  the  '  South  of  France,' 
with  its  Gascon  ways ;  the  Garonne,  Garumna  river,  the 
Gironde  and  Montaigne's  country:  here  truly  are  invi- 
tations. 


180  JOHN    STERLING. 

In  short  it  was  decided  that  he  and  his  family  should 
move  thither ;  there,  under  "warmer  skies,  begin  a  new 
residence.  The  doctors  promised  improvement,  if  the 
place  suited  for  a  permanency ;  there  at  least,  much  more 
commodiouslj  than  elsewhere,  he  might  put  over  the  rig- 
orous period  of  this  present  year.  Sterling  left  us,  I  find 
noted,  '  on  the  first  of  August  1836.'  The  name  of  his 
fine  foreign  mansion  is  Belsito ;  in  the  village  of  Floirac, 
within  short  distance  of  Bordeaux. 

Counting  in  his  voyage  to  the  West  Indies,  this  is  the 
second  of  some  five  health-journeys  which,  sometimes  with 
his  family,  sometimes  without,  he  had  to  make  in  all. 
'  Five  forced  peregrinities ; '  which,  in  their  sad  and 
barren  alternation,  are  the  main  incidents  of  his  much- 
obstructed  life  henceforth.  Five  swift  flights,  not  for  any 
high  or  low  object  in  life,  but  for  life  itself;  swift  jerkings 
aside  from  whatever  path  or  object  you  might  be  following, 
to  escape  the  scythe  of  Death.  On  such  terms  had  poor 
Sterling  henceforth  to  live ;  and  surely  with  less  com- 
plaint, with  whatever  result  otherwise,  no  man  could  do  it. 

His  health  prospered  at  Bordeaux.  He  had,  of  course, 
new  interests  and  objects  of  curiosity  ;  but  when  once  the 
household  was  settled  in  its  new  moorings,  and  the  first 
dazzle  of  strangeness  fairly  over,  he  returned  to  his  em- 
ployments and  pursuits, — which  Avere,  in  good  part,  essen- 
tially the  old  ones.  His  chosen  books,  favorite  instructors 
of  the  period,  were  with  him  ; .  at  least  the  world  of  his 
own  thoughts  was  with  him,  and  the  grand  ever-recurring 
question :  What  to  do  with  that ;  How  best  to  regulate 
that. 


TO    BORDEAUX.  181 

I  remember  kind  and  happy-looking  Letters  from  him 
at  Bordeaux,  rich  enough  in  interests  and  projects,  in 
activities  and  emotions.  He  looked  abroad  over  the  Gi 
ronde  country,  over  the  towers  and  quais  of  Bordeaux  at 
least  with  a  painter's  eye,  which  he  rather  eminently 
had,  and  very  eminently  loved  to  exercise.  Of  human  ac- 
quaintances he  found  not  many  to  attract  him,  nor  could 
he  well  go  much  into  deeper  than  pictorial  connection  with 
the  scene  around  him ;  but  on  this  side  too,  he  was,  as 
usual,  open  and  willing.  A  learned  young  German,  tutor 
in  some  family  of  the  neighborhood,  was  admitted  fre- 
quently to  see  him ;  probably  the  only  scholar  in  those 
parts  with  whom  he  could  converse  of  an  evening.  One 
of  my  Letters  contained  notice  of  a  pilgrimage  he  had 
made  to  the  old  Chateau  of  Montaigne  ;  a  highly  inter- 
esting sight  to  a  reading  man.  He  wrote  to  me  also  about 
the  Caves  of  St.  Emilion  or  Libourne,  hiding-place  of  Bar- 
baroux,  Petion  and  other  Girondins,  concerning  whom  I 
was  then  writing.  Nay  here  is  the  Letter  itself  still  left ; 
and  I  may  as  well  insert  it,  as  a  relic  of  that  time.  The 
projected  '  walking  expedition  '  into  France  ;  the  vision  of 
Montaigne's  old  House,  Barbaroux's  death  scene ;  the 
Chinese  la-Kiao-IA  or  Two  Fair  Cousins :  all  these 
things  are  long  since  asleep,  as  if  dead  ;  and  affect  one's 
OAvn  mind  with  a  sense  of  strangeness  when  resuscitated ; 

'  To  Thomas  Carlyle,  Esq.,  Chelsea,  London. 

'  Belsito,  near  Bordeaux,  October  26,  1836. 

'  My  dear  Carlyle, — I  have   to  thank  you  for  two 
Letters,  which,  unlike   other  people's,  have  the  writer's 
16 


182  JOHN    STEELING. 

signature  in  every  word  as  well  as  at  the  end.  Your 
assurances  of  remembrance  and  kindness  were  by  no 
means  necessary,  but  are  not  at  all  less  pleasant.  The 
patronage  you  bestow  on  my  old  stick  requires  the  ac- 
knowledgment from  me  which  my  care  of  its  education  had 
not  succeeded  in  teaching  it  to  express  for  itself.  May 
your  more  genial  and  more  masculine  treatment  be  more 
effectual !  I  remember  that  I  used  to  fling  it  along  the 
broad  walk  in  Kensington  Gardens,  for  Edward  to  run 
after  it  ;  and  I  suspect  you  will  find  the  scars  resulting 
from  the  process,  on  the  top  of  the  hook. 

'  If  the  purveyors  of  religion  and  its  implements  to  this 
department  of  France  supplied  such  commodities  as  waxen 
hecatombs,  I  would  sacrifice  one  for  the  accomplishment  of 
your  pedestrian  design  ;  and  am  already  meditating  an 
appropriate  invocation,  sermone  pedestri.  Pray  come,  in 
the  first  fine  days  of  spring ;  or  rather  let  us  look  forward 
to  your  coming,  for  as  to  the  fact,  where  may  both  or 
either  of  us  be  before  this  day  six  months?  I  am  not, 
however,  resolute  as  to  any  plan  of  my  own  that  would 
take  me  either  along  the  finite  or  the  infinite  sea.  I  still 
bear  up,  and  do  my  best  here  ;  and  have  no  distinct 
schemes  of  departure :  for  I  am  well,  and  well  situated  at 
present,  and  enjoy  my  books,  my  leisure,  and  the  size  and 
comfort  of  the  house  I  live  in.  I  shall  go,  if  go  I  must ; 
and  not  otherwise.  I  have  sometimes  thought  that,  if 
driven  away  later  in  the  year,  I  -might  try  Italy, — proba- 
bly at  first  Pisa ;  and  if  so,  should  hope,  in  spite  of  cholera, 
to  see  your  Brother,  who  would  be  helpful  both  to  mind 
and  body.     When  you  write  to  him,  pray  just  touch  with 


TO    BORDEAUX.  183 

your  pen  the  long  cobweb  thread  that  connects  me  with 
him,  and  which  is  more  visible  and  palpable  about  eighteen 
inches  above  your  writing-table  than  any  where  else  in  this 
much  becobwebbed  world. 

Your  account  of  the  particular  net  you  occupy  in  the 
great  reticulation  is  not  very  consolatory ; — I  should  be 
sorry  if  it  were  from  thinking  of  it  as  a  sort  of  paries 
proximus.  When  you  sHp  the  collar  of  the  French  Revo- 
lution, and  the  fine  weather  comes  round  again,  and  my 
life  becomes  insurable  at  less  than  fifty  per  cent,  I  hope  to 
see  you  as  merry  as  Philina  or  her  husband,  in  spite  of 
your  having  somewhat  more  wisdom.  And  all  these  good 
things  may  be,  in  some  twenty-six  weeks  or  less  ;  a  space 
of  time  for  which  the  paltriest  Dutch  clock  would  be 
warranted  to  go,  without  more  than  an  hour  or  two  of  daily 
variation.  I  trust  we  have,  both  of  us,  souls  above  those 
that  tick  in  country  kitchens  ! — Of  your  Wife  I  think  you 
say  nothing  in  your  last.  Why  does  she-  not  write  to  me  ? 
Is  it  because  she  will  not  stoop  to  nonsense,  and  that  would 
be  the  only  proper  answer  to  an  uncanonical  epistle  I  sent 
her  while  in  Scotland  ?  Tell  her  she  is,  at  all  events,  sure 
of  being  constantly  remembered  ;  for  I  play  backgammon 
with  Charles  Barton  for  want  of  any  one  to  play  chess 
with. 

'  Of  my  expedition  to  Montaigne's  old  House  I  cannot 
say  much  :  for  I  indited  Notes  thereof  for  my  own  use,  and 
also  wrote  something  about  it  to  Mr.  Dunn  ;  which  is  as 
much  as  the  old  walls  would  well  bear.  It  is  truly  an 
interesting  place  ;   for  it  does  not  seem  as  if  a  stone  had 


184  JOHN    STERLING. 

been  touched  since  Montaigne's  time  ;  though  his  house  is 
still  inhabited,  and  the  apartment  that  he  describes  in  the 
Essai  des  Trois  Comynerces  might,  barring  the  evident 
antiquity,  have  been  built  yesterday  to  reahze  his  ilccount. 
The  rafters  of  the  room  which  was  his  library  have  still  his 
inscriptions  on  their  lower  faces :  all  very  characteristic  ; 
many  from  Ucclesiastes.  The  view  is  open  all  round ; 
over  a  rather  flat,  elevated  country,  apparently  clayey 
ploughed  lands,  with  little  wood,  no  look  of  great  popula- 
tion, and  'here  and  there  a  small  stone  windmill  with  a 
conical  roof.  The  village  church  close  by  is  much  older 
than  Montaigne's  day.  His  house  looks  just  as  he  de- 
scribes it :  a  considerable  building  that  never  was  at  all 
fortified. 

'  St.  Emilion  I  had  not  time  to  see  or  learn  much  of; 
but  the  place  looks  all  very  old.  A  very  small  town,  built 
of  stone  ;  jostled  into  a  sort  of  ravine,  or  large  quarry,  in 
the  slope  from  the-  higher  table-land  towards  the  Dordogne. 
Quite  on  the  ridge,  at  the  top  of  the  town,  is  an  immense 
Gothic  steeple,  that  would  suit  a  cathedral,  but  has  under 
it  only  a  church  (now  abandoned)  cut  out  in  the  sandstone 
rock,  and  of  great  height  and  size.  There  is  a  large 
church  above  ground  close  by,  and  several  monastic  build- 
ings. Of  the  Caves  I  only  saw  some  entrances.  I  fancy 
they  are  all  artificial,  but  am  not  sure.  The  Dordogne  is 
in  sight  below  in  the  plain.  I  cannot  lay  my  hands  on  any 
Book  for  you  which  gives  an  account  of  the  time  the  Giron- 
dins  spent  here  ;  or  who  precisely  those  were  that  made 
this  their  hiding-place. 
^  '  I  was  prepared  for  what  you  say  of  Miraheau  and  its 
postponement,  from  an  advertisement  of  the  Articles,  in 


TO    BORDEAUX.  "  185 

the  Times : — but  this  I  only  saw  the  day  after  I  had 
■written  to  Paris  to  order  the  new  Number'  of  the  London- 
and-  Westminster  '  by  mail ;  so  I  consider  the  Editor  in  my 
debt  for  ten  or  twelve  francs  of  postage,  which  I  hope  to 
recover  when  we  get  our  equitable  adjustment  of  all  things 
in  this  world, 

'  I  have  now  read  through  Saint  Simon's  twenty  vol- 
umes ;  which  have  well  repaid  me.  The  picture  of  the 
daily  detail  of  a  despotic  court  is  something  quite  startling 
from  its  vividness  and  reality  ;  and  there  is  perhaps  a 
much  deeper  interest  in  his  innumerable  portraits  and 
biographies, — many  of  which,  told  in  the  quietest  way,  are 
appalling  tragedies ;  and  the  best,  I  think,  have  something 
painful  and  delirious  about  them.  I  have  also  lounged  a 
good  deal  over  the  Biograpliie  Universelle  and  Bayle. 
The  last  I  never  looked  into  before.  One  would  think  he 
had  spent  his  whole  life  in  the  Younger  Pliny's  windowless 
study ;  had  never  seen,  except  by  candlelight ;  and  thought 
the  Universe  a  very  good  raw-material  for  books.  But  he 
is  an  amiable  honest  man ;  and  more  good  material  than 
enough  was  spent  in  making  the  case  for  that  logical  wheel- 
work  of  his.  As  to  the  Biograpliie  Universelle,  you  know 
it  better  than  I.  I  wish  Craik,  or  some  such  man,  could 
be  employed  on  an  English  edition,  in  which  the  British 
lives  should  be  better  done.  I  sent  for  the  Chinese 
Cousins  as  soon  as  I  received  your  Letter ;  but  the  answer 
was,  that  the  book  is  out  of  print. 

'  Have  you  seen  the  last  Number  of  the  Foreign  Re- 
vieiv ;  where  there  is  an  article  on  Eckermann's  Conver- 
sations of  Groethe,  written  by  a  stupid  man,  but  giving 
extracts  of  much  interest.  Goethe's  talk  has  been  running 
16* 


186  JOHN    STERLING. 

in  mj  head  for  the  last  fortnight ;  and  I  find  I  am  more 
indined  than  I  was  to  vahie  the  flowers  that  grow  (as  on 
the  Alps)  on  the  margin  of  his  glaciers.  I  shall  read  his 
Diclitmig  und  Wahrheit,  and  Italian  Tour,  when  the  books 
come  in  my  way.  But  I  have  still  little  hope  of  finding  in 
him  what  I  should  look  for  in  Jean  Paul,  and  what  I  pos- 
sess in  some  others  :  a  ground  prolonging  and  encircling 
that  on  which  I  myself  rest. 

'  I  suppose  the  dramatic  projects  of  Henry  Taylor  (to 
whom  remember  me  cordially)  are  mainly  Thomas  d 
Bechet.  I  too  have  been  scheming  Tragedies  and  Novels ; 
— but  with  little  notion  of  doing  more  than  play  the  cloud- 
compeller,  for  want  of  more  substantial  work  on  earth.  I 
do  not  know  why,  but  my  thoughts  have,  since  I  reached 
this,  been  running  more  on  History  and  Poetry  than  on 
Theology  and  Philosophy,  more  indeed  than  for  years  past. 
I  suppose  it  is  a  providential  arrangement,  that  I  may  find 
out  I  am  good  -for  as  little  in  the  one  way  as  the  other.  In 
the  meantime  do  not  let  my  monopoly  of  your  correspond- 
ence be  only  a  nominal  privilege.  Accept  my  Wife's 
kindest  remembrances  ;  give  my  love  to  yours.  Tell  me  if 
I  can  do  any  thing  for  you.  Do  not  let  the  ides  of  March 
go  by  without  starting  for  the  Garonne : — and  beheve  me, 
— Yours  jusqii'd  la  mart  sans  phrase, 

'  John  Sterling.' 

"  La  mart  sans  phrase  "  was  Sieyes's  vote  in  the  Trial 
of  Louis.  Sterling's  '  Notes  for  his  own  use,'  which  are 
here  mentioned  in  reference  to  that  Montaigne  pilgrimage 
of  his,  were  employed  not  long  after,  in  an  Essay  on  Mon- 


TO    BORDEAUX.  187 

talgne.*  He  also  read  the  Chinese  Cousins,  and  loved  it, 
— as  I  bad  expected.  Of  which  take  this  memorandum  : 
'  lu-Kiao-Li,  oil  les  Deux  Cousines  ;  translated  by  Remu- 
sat ; — well  translated  into  English  also,  from  his  version ; 
and  one  of  the  notablest  Chinese  books.  A  book  in  fact 
by  a  Chinese  man  of  genius ;  most  strangely  but  recogni- 
zably such, — man  of  genius  made  on  the  dragon  pattern ! 
Recommended  to  be  by  Carlyle  ;  to  him  by  Leigh  Hunt.' 
The  other  points  need  no  explanation. 

By  this  time,  I  conclude,  as  indeed  this  Letter  indicates, 
the  theological  tumult  was  decidedly  abating  in  him ;  to 
which  result  this  still  hermit-life  in  the  Gironde  would  un- 
doubtedly contribute.  Tholuck,  Schleiermacher,  and  the 
war  of  articles  and  rubrics,  were  left  in  the  far  distance  ; 
Nature's  blue  skies,  and  awful  eternal  verities,  were  once 
more  around  one,  and  small  still  voices,  admonitory  of 
many  things,  could  in  the  beautiful  solitude  freely  reach 
the  heart.  Theologies,  rubrics,  surplices,  church-articles, 
and  this  enormous  ever-repeated  thrashing  of  the  straw  ? 
A  world  of  rotten  straw  ;  thrashed  all  into  powder ;  filling 
the  Universe  and  blotting  out  the  stars  and  worlds : — 
Heaven  pity  you  with  such  a  thrashingfloor  for  world,  and 
its  draggled  dirty  farthing-candle  for  sun  !  There  is  surely 
other  worship  possible  for  the  heart  of  man  ;  there  should 
be  other  work,  or  none  at  all,  for  the  intellect  and  creative 
faculty  of  man  ! — 

It  was  here,  I  find,  that  Literature  first  again  decisively 
began  to  dawn  on  Sterling  as  the  goal  he  ought  to  aim  at. 
To  this,  with  his  poor  broken  opportunities  and  such  inward 

*  London  and  W^estminster  Review;  Hare,  i.  129. 


188  JOHN    STERLING. 

faculties  as  were  given  him,  it  became  gradually  clearer 
that  he  ought  altogether  to  apply  himself.  Such  result 
was  now  decisively  beginning  for  him  ;  the  original  bent  of 
his  mind,  the  dim  mandate  of  all  the  facts  in  his  outward 
and  inward  condition ;  evidently  the  one  wholesome  ten- 
dency for  him,  which  grew  ever  clearer  to  the  end  of  his 
course,  and  gave  at  least  one  steady  element,  and  that  the 
central  one,  in  his  fluctuating  existence  henceforth.  It  was  ' 
years  still  before  he  got  the  inky  tints  of  that  Coleridgean 
adventure  completely  bleached  from  his  mind  ;  but  here 
the  process  had  begun, — and  I  doubt  not,  we  have  to  thank 
the  solitude  of  Floirac  for  it  a  little ;  which  is  some  conso- 
lation for  the  illness  that  sent  him  thither. 

His  best  hours  here  were  occupied  in  purely  literary  oc- 
cupations ;  in  attempts  at  composition  on  his  own  footing 
again.  Unluckily  in  this  too  the  road  for  him  was  now  far 
away,  after  so  many  years  of  aberration  ;  true  road  not  to 
be  found  all  at  once.  But  at  least  he  was  seeking  it  again. 
The  Sexton^ s  Dauglder^  which  he  composed  here  this  sea- 
son, did  by  no  means  altogether  please  us  as  a  Poem  ;  but 
it  was,  or  deserved  to  be,  very  welcome  as  a  symptom  of 
spiritual  return  to  the  open  air.  Adieu  ye  thrashingfloors 
of  rotten  straw,  with  bleared  tallow-light  for  sun  ;  to  you 
adieu  !  The  angry  sordid  dust-whirlwinds  begin  to  allay 
themselves  ;  settle  into  soil  underfoot,  where  their  place  is : 
glimpses,  call  them  distant  intimations  still  much  vailed,  of 
the  everlasting  azure,  and  a  much  higher  and  wider  priest- 
hood than  that  under  copes  and  mitres,  and  wretched  dead 
mediasval  monkeries  and  extinct  traditions.  This  was  per- 
haps the  chief  intellectual  result  of  Sterhng's  residence  at 
Bordeaux,  and  flight  to  the  Gironde  in  pursuit  of  health  ; 


TO    BORDEAUX.  189 

whicli  does  not  otherwise  deserve  to  count  as  an  epoch  or 
chapter  with  him. 

In  the  course  of  the  summer  and  autumn  1837,  I  do  not 
now  find  at  Avhat  exact  dates,  he  made  two  journeys  from 
Bordeaux  to  England  ;  the  first  by  himself,  on  various 
small  specific  businesses,  and  uncertain  outlooks ;  the  sec- 
ond with  his  family,  having  at  last,  after  hesitation,  decided 
on  removal  from  those  parts.  '  The  cholera  had  come  to 
France  ; ' — add  to  which,  I  suppose  his  solitude  at  Belsito 
was  growing  irksome,  and  home  and  merry  England,  in 
comparison  with  the  monotony  of  the  Gironde,  had  again 
grown  inviting.  He  had  vaguely  purposed  to  make  for 
Nice  in  the  coming  winter ;  but  that  also  the  cholera  or 
other  causes  prevented.  His  Brother  Anthony,  a  gallant 
young  soldier,  was  now  in  England,  home  from  the  Ionian 
Islands  on  a  visit  to  old  friends  and  scenes ;  and  that 
doubtless  was  a  new  and  strong  inducement  hitherward.  It 
was  this  summer,  I  think,  that  the  two  Bi'others  revisited 
together  the  scene  of  their  early  boyhood  at  Llanblethian  ; 
a  touching  pilgrimage,  of  which  John  gave  me  account  in 
reference  to  something  similar  of  my  own  in  Scotland, 
where  I  then  was. 

Here,  in  jj,  Letter  to  his  Mother,  is  notice  of  his  return 
from  the  first  of  these  sallies  into  England ;  and  how  doubt- 
ful all  at  Bordeaux  still  was,  and  how  pleasant  some  little 
certainties  at  home.  The  '  Annie  '  of  whose  '  engagement ' 
there  is  mention,  was  Miss  Anna  Barton,  IMrs.  John  Ster- 
ling's younger  sister,  Avho,  to  the  joy  of  more  than  one 
party,  as  appears,  had  accepted  his  friend  Maurice  while 
Sterling  was  in  England  : 


190  JOHN    STERLING. 

'  To  3Irs.  Sterling,  Knightshridge,  London. 

'Floirac,  August  7,  1837. 

'  My  Dear  Mother, — I  am  now  beginning  to  feel  a 
little  less  clizzj  and  tired,  and  will  try  to  write  jou  a  few 
lines  to  tell  you  of  my  fortunes.' 

'  I  found  my  things  all  right  at  tlie  Albion.  Unluckily 
the  steamer  could  not  start  from  Brighton,  and  I  was 
obliged  to  go  over  to  Shoreham ;  but  the  weather  cleared 
up,  and  we  had  rather  a  smooth  passage  into  France.  The 
wind  was  oflf  the  French  coast,  so  that  we  were  in  calm 
water  at  last.  We  got  in  about  ten  o'clock ; — too  late  for 
the  Custom-house.  Next  morning  I  settled  all  my  business 
early ;  but  was  detained  for  horses  till  nine, — owing  to  the 
nearness  of  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  which  had  caused  a  great 
stir  on  the  roads.  I  was  for  the  same  reason  stopped  at 
Rouen  ;  and  I  was  once  again  stopped,  on  Saturday  for  an 
hour,  Avaiting  for  horses  :  otherwise  I  traveled  without  any 
delay,  and  in  the  finest  weather,  from  Dieppe  to  this  place, 
which  I  reached  on  Sunday  morning  at  five.  I  took  the 
shortest  road,  by  Alen^on,  Saumur  and  Niort ;  and  was 
very  well  satisfied  with  my  progress, — at  least,  till  about 
Blaye,  on  the  Garonne,  where  there  was  a  good  deal  of 
deep  sand,  which,  instead  of  running  merrily  through  the 
hour-glass  of  Time,  on  the  contrary  clogged  the  wheels  of 
my  carriage.  At  last,  however,  I  reached  home  ;  and 
found  everybody  well,  and  glad  to  see  me. — I  felt  tired 
and  stupid,  and  not  at  all  disposed  to  write.  But  I  am 
now  sorry  I  did  not  overcome  my  laziness,  and  send  you  a 
line  to  announce  my  safe  arrival ;  for  I  know  that  at  a  dis- 


TO    MADEIRA. 


191 


tance  people  naturally  grow  anxious,   even   -without   any 


reason.' 


*  It.  seems  now  almost  like  a  dream,  that  I  have  ever 
been  awaj  from  hence.  But  Annie's  engai^ement  to  Mau- 
rice is,  I  trust,  a  lasting  memorial  of  my  journey.  I  find 
Susan  quite  as  much  pleased  as  I  expected  with  her  Sister's 
prospects ;  and  satisfied  that  nothing  could  have  so  well  se- 
cured her  happiness,  and  mental  (or  rather  cordial)  ad- 
vancement as  her  union  to  such  a  man.  On  the  Avhole, 
it  is  a  great  happiness  to  me  to  look  back  both  to  this  mat- 
ter, and  on  the  kindness  and  affection  of  the  relatives  and 
friends  whom  I  saw  in  England.  It  will  be  a  very  painful 
disappointment  to  me  if  I  should  be  obliged  to  pass  the 
next  summer  without  taking  my  Wife  and  Children  to  our 
own  country  : — we  will,  at  all  events,  enjoy  the  hope  of  my 
doing  so.  In  the  meantime  I  trust  you  will  enjoy  your 
Tour,  and  on  your  return  spend  a  quiet  and  cheerful  win- 
ter. Love  to  my  Father,  and  kindest  regards  to  Mrs. 
Carlyle. — Your  affectionate  son, 

'John  Steeling.' 


192  JOHN    STERLING. 


CHAPTER,    V. 


TO    MADEIRA. 


Sterling's  dubieties  as  to  continuing  at  Bordeaux  were 
quickly  decided.  The  cholera  in  France,  the  cholera  in 
Nice,  the — In  fact  his  moorings  were  now  loose  ;  and  hav- 
ing been  fairly  at  sea,  he  never  could  anchor  himself  here 
again.  Very  shortly  after  this  Letter,  he  left  Belsito 
again  (for  good,  as  it  proved)  ;  and  returned  to  England 
with  his  household,  there  to  consider  what  should  next  be 
done. 

On  my  return  from  Scotland,  that  year,  perhaps  late  in 
September,  I  remember  finding  him  lodged  straitly  but 
cheerfully,  and  in  happy  humor,  in  a  little  cottage  on 
Blackheath ;  whither  his  Father  one  day  persuaded  me  to 
drive  out  with  him  for  dinner.  Our  welcome,  I  can  still 
recollect,  was  conspicuously  cordial ;  the  place  of  dinner  a 
kind  of  upper  room,  half-garret  and  full  of  books,  which 
seemed  to  be  John's  place  of  study.  From  a  shelf,  I  re- 
member also,  the  good  soul  took  down  a  book  modestly 
enough  bound  in  three  volumes,  lettered  on  the  back 
Carlyles  French  JRevolution,  which  had  been  published 
lately  ;  this  he  with  friendly  banter  bade  me  look-at  as  a 
first  symptom,  small  but  significant,  that  the  book  was  not 
to  die  all  at  once.  "  One  copy  of  it  at  least  might  hope  to 
last  the  date  of  sheep-leather,"  I  admitted, — and  in  mj 
then  mood  the  little  fact  was  welcome.     Our  dinner,  frank 


TO     MADEIRA.  193 

and  happy  on  the  part  of  Sterling,  was  peppered  with 
abundant  joUj  satire  from  his  Father  ;  before  tea,  I  took 
myself  away  ;  towards  Woolwich,  I  remember,  where  prob- 
ably there  was  another  call  to  make,  and  passage  home- 
ward by  steamer :  Sterling  strode  along  with  me  a  good 
bit  of  road  in  the  bright  sunny  evening,  full  of  lively 
friendly  talk,  and  altogether  kind  and  amiable  ;  and  beauti- 
fully sympathetic  with  the  loads  he  thought  he  saw  on  me, 
forgetful  of  his  own.  We  shook  hands  on  the  road  near 
the  foot  of  Shooter's  Hill : — at  which  point  dim  oblivious 
clouds  rush  down ;  and  of  small  or  great  I  remember  noth- 
ing more  in  my  history  or  his  for  some  time. 

Besides  running  much  about  am^ong  friends,  and  holding 
counsels  for  the  management  of  the  coming  winter,  Sterling 
was  now  considerably  occupied  with  Literature  again  ;  and 
indeed  may  be  said  to  have  already  definitely  taken  it  up 
as  the  one  practical  pursuit  left  for  him.  Some  correspond- 
ence with  Blackwood' s  3Iagazine  was  opening  itself,  under 
promising  omens  :  now,  and  more  and  more  henceforth,  he 
began  to  look  on  Literature  as  his  real  employment  after 
all ;  and  was  prosecuting  it  with  his  accustomed  loyalty 
and  ardor.  And  he  conrmued  ever  afterwards,  in  spite  of 
such  fitfal  circumstances  and  uncertain  ontward  fluctua- 
tions as  his  were  sure  of  being,  to  prosecute  it  steadily  with 
all  the  strength  he  had. 

One  evening  about  this  time,  he  came  down  to  us,  to 
Chelsea,  most  likely  by  appointment  and  with  stiimlation 
for  privacy  ;  and  read,  for  our  opinion,  his  Poem  of  the 
Sexton's  Daughter,  which  avc  now  first  heard  of.  The 
judgment  in  this  house  was  friendly,  but  not  the  most  en- 
couraging. Wo  found  tbe  piece  monotonous,  cast  in  the 
17 


194  JOHN    STERLING. 

mould  of  Wordsworth,  deficient  in  real  human  fervor  or 
depth  of  melody,  dallying  on  the  borders  of  the  infantile 
and  "  goody-good  ;" — in  fact,  involved  still  in  the  shadows 
of  the  surplice,  and  inculcating  (on  hearsay  mainly)  a  weak 
morality,  which  he  would  one  day  find  not  to  be  moral  at 
all,  but  in  good  part  maudlin-hypocritical  and  immoral.  As 
indeed  was  to  be  said  still  of  most  of  his  performances, 
especially  the  poetical ;  a  sickly  shadow  of  the  parish- 
church  still  hanging  over  them,  which  he  could  by  no  means 
recognize  for  sickly.  Imprimatur  nevertheless  was  the 
concluding  word, — with  these  grave  abatements,  and  rha- 
damanthine  admonitions.  To  all  which  Sterling  listened 
seriously  and  in  the  mildest  humor.  His  reading,  it  might 
have  been  added,  had  much  hurt  the  effect  of  the  piece :  a 
dreary  pulpit  or  even  conventicle  manner  ;  that  flattest 
moaning  hoo-hoo  of  predetermined  pathos,  with  a  kind  of 
rocking  canter  introduced  by  way  of  intonation,  each  stanza 
the  exact  fellow  of  the  other,  and  the  dull  swing  of  the 
rocking-horse  duly  in  each ; — no  reading  could  be  more  un- 
favorable to  Sterling's  poetry  than  his  own.  Such  a  mode 
of  reading,  and  indeed  generally  in  a  man  of  such  vivacity 
the  total  absence  of  all  gifts  for  playacting  or  artistic  mim- 
icry in  any  kind,  was  a  noticeable  point. 

After  much  consultation,  it  was  settled  at  last  that 
Sterling  should  go  to  Madeira  for  the  winter.  One  gray 
dull  autumn  afternoon,  towards  the  middle  of  October,  I 
remember  walking  with  him  to  the  eastern  Dock  region,  to 
see  his  ship,  and  how  the  final  preparations  in  his  own  little 
cabin  were  proceeding  there.  A  dingy  little  ship,  the 
deck  crowded  with  packages,  and  busthng   sailors  within 


TO    MADEIRA.  195 

eight-and-forty  hours  of  lifting  anchor  ;  a  dingy  chill  smoky 
day,  as  I  have  said  withal,  and  a  chaotic  element  and  out- 
look, enough  to  make  a  friend's  heart  sad.      I  admired  the 
cheerful  careless  humor  and  brisk  activity  of  Sterhng,  who 
took  the  matter  all  on  the  sunny  side,  as  he  was  wont  in 
such  cases.     We  came  home  together  in  manifold  talk  :  he 
accepted  with  the  due  smile  my  last  contribution  to  his  sea- 
equipment,  a  sixpenny  box  of  German  lucifers  purchased 
on  the  sudden  in  St.  James's  Street,  fit  to  be  offered  with 
laughter  or  with  tears  or  with  both  ;  he  was  to  leave  for 
Portsmouth   almost  immediately,  and  there  go  on  board. 
Our  next  news'  was  of  his  safe  arrival  in  the  temperate  Isle. 
Mrs.  Sterling  and  the  children  were  left  at  Knightsbridge ; 
to  pass  this  winter  with  his  Father  and  Mother. 

At  Madeira  Sterling  did  well ;  Improved  in  health  ;  was 
busy  with  much  Literature  ;  and  fell  in  with  society  which 
he  could  reckon  pleasant.  He  was  much  delighted  with 
the  scenery  of  the  place  ;  found  the  chmate  wholesome  to 
him  in  a  marked  degree  ;  and,  with  good  news  from  home, 
and  kindly  interests  here  abroad,  passed  no  disagreeable 
winter  in  that  exile.  There  was  talking,  there  was  writing, 
there  was  hope  of  better  health  ;  he  rode  almost  daily,  in 
cheerful  busy  humor,  along  those  fringed  shore-roads : — 
beautiful  leafy  roads  and  horse-paths  ;  with  here  and  there 
a  wild  cataract  and  bridge  to  look  at ;  and  always  with  the 
soft  sky  overhead,  the  dead  volcanic  mountain  on  one 
hand,  and  broad  illimitable  sea  spread  out  on  the  other. 
Here  are  two  Letters  which  give  reasonably  good  account 
of  him : 


196  JOHN    STERLING. 

'  To  Thomas  Carlyle,  Esq.,  Chelsea,  London. 

'Funchal,  Madeira,  Nov.  16th,  1837. 

'  My  dear  Carlyle, — I  have  been  writing  a  good  many 
letters  all  in  a  batch,  to  go  by  the  same  opportunity ;  and  I 
am  thoroughly  weary  of  writing  the  same  things  over  and 
over  again  to  different  people.  My  letter  to  you  therefore, 
I  fear,  must  have  much  of  the  character  of  remainder  bis- 
cuit. But  you  will  receive  it  as  a  proof  that  I  do  not  wish 
you  to  forget  me,  though  it  may  be  useless  for  any  other 
purpose. 

'  I  reached  this  on  the  2d,  after  a  tolerably  prosperous 
voyage,  deformed  by  some  days  of  sea-sickness,  but  other- 
wise not  to  be  complained  of.  I  liked  my  twenty  fellow- 
passengers  far  better  than  I  expected  ; — three  or  four  of 
them  I  liked  much,  and  continue  to  see  frequently.  The 
Island  too  is  better  than  I  expected :  so  that  my  Barataria 
at  least  does  not  disappoint  me.  The  bold  rough  mountains, 
with  mists  about  their  summits,  verdure  below,  and  a  bright 
sun  over  all,  please  me  much  ;  and  I  ride  daily  on  the 
steep  and  narrow  paved  roads,  which  no  wheels  ever  jour- 
neyed on.  The  Town  is  clean,  and  there  its  merits  end  : 
but  I  am  comfortably  lodged ;  with  a  large  and  pleasant 
sitting-room  to  myself.  I  have  met  with  much  kindness, 
and  see  all  the  society  I  want, — though  it  is  not  quite  equal 
to  that  of  London,  even  excluding  Chelsea. 

'  I  have  got  about  me  what  Books  I  brought  out ;  and 
have  read  a  little,  and  done  some  writing  for  Blackwood^ — 
all,  I  have  the  pleasure  to  inform  you,  prose,  nay  extremely 
prose.  I  shall  now  be  more  at  leisure  ;  and  hope  to  get 
more  steadily  to  work  ;  though  I  do  not  know  what  I  shall 


TO    MADEIRA.  197 

begin  upon.  As  to  reading,  I  have  been  looking  at  Goethe, 
especially  the  Life, — much  as  a  shying  horse  looks  at  a 
post.  In  truth,  I  am  afraid  of  him.  I  enjoy  and  admire 
him  so  much,  and  feel  I  could  so  easily  be  tempted  to  go 
along  with  him.  And  yet  I  have  a  deeply-rooted  and  old 
persuasion  that  he  was  the  most  sjDlendid  of  anachronisms. 
A  thoroughly,  nay  intensely  Pagan  Life,  in  an  age  when  it 
is  men's  duty  to  be  Christian.  I  therefore  never  take  him 
up  without  a  kind  of  inward  check,  as  if  I  were  trying 
some  forbidden  spell ;  while,  on  the  other  hand,  there  is  so 
infinitely  much  to  be  learnt  from  him,  and  it  is  so  needful 
to  understand  the  world  we  live  in,  and  our  own  age,  and 
especially  its  greatest  minds,  that  I  cannot  bring  myself  to 
burn  my  books  as  the  converted  Magicians  did,  or  sink 
them  as  did  Prospero.  There  must,  as  I  think,  have  been 
some  prodigious  defect  in  his  mind,  to  let  him  hold  such 
views  as  his  about  women  and  some  other  things  ;  and  in 
another  respect,  I  find  so  much  coldness  and  hollowness  as, 
to  the  highest  truths,  and  feel  so  strongly  that  the  Heaven 
he  looks  up  to  is  but  a  vault  of  ice, — that  these  two  indica- 
tions, leading  to  the  same  conclusion,  go  fiir  to  convince  me 
he  was  a  profoundly  immoral  and  irreligious  spirit,  with  as 
rare  faculties  of  intelligence  as  ever  belonged  to  any  one. 
All  this  may  be  mere  goody  weakness  and  twaddle,  on  my  , 
part :  but  it  is  a  persuasion  that  I  cannot  escape  from  : 
thousjh  I  should  feel  the  doinfl;  so  to  be  a  deliverance  from 
a  most  painful  load.  If  you  could  help  me,  I  heartily  wish 
you  would.  I  never  take  him  up  without  high  admiration, 
or  lay  him  down  without  real  sorrow  for  what  he  chose 
to  be. 

'  I  have  been  reading  nothing  else  that  you  would  much 
17* 


198  JOHN    STERLING. 

care  for.  Souther's  Amadls  has  amused  me  ;  and  Ljell's 
G-eology  interested  me.  The  latter  gives  one  the  same  sort 
of  bewildering  view  of  the  abysmal  extent  of  Time  that 
Astronomy  does  of  Space.  I  do  not  think  I  shall  take 
your  advice  as  to  learning  Portuguese.  It  is  said  to  be 
very  ill  spoken  here  ;  and  assuredly  it  is  the  most  direful 
series  of  nasal  twangs  I  ever  heard.  One  gets  on  quite 
well  with  Enghsh. 

'  The  people  here  are,  I  believe,  in  a  very  low  con- 
dition ;  but  they  do  not  appear  miserable.  I  am  told  that 
the  influence  of  the  priests  makes  the  peasantry  all  Mi- 
guelites  ;  but  it  is  said  that  nobody  wants  any  more 
revolutions.  There  is  no  appearance  of  riot  or  crime  ;  and 
they  are  all  extremely  civil.  I  was  much  interested  by 
learning  that  Columbus  once  lived  here,  before  he  found 
America  and  fame.  I  have  been  to  see  a  deserted  quinta 
(country-house),  where  there  is  a  great  deal  of  curious  old 
sculpture,  in  relief,  upon  the  masonry  ;  many  of  the  figures, 
which  are  nearly  as  large  as  life,  representing  soldiers  clad 
and  armed  much  as  I  should  suppose  those  of  Cortez  were. 
There  are  no  buildings  about  the  Town,  of  the  smallest  pre- 
tensions to  beauty  or  charm  of  any  kind.  On  the  whole,  if 
Madeira  were  one's  world,  life  would  certainly  rather  tend 
to  stagnate  ;  but  as  a  temporary  refuge,  a  niche  in  an  old 
ruin  where  one  is  sheltered  from  the  shower,  it  has  great 
merit.  I  am  more  comfortable  and  contented  than  I 
expected  to  be,  so  far  from  home  and  from  everybody  I  am 
closely  connected  with  :  but,  of  course,  it  is  at  best  a  toler- 
able exile. 

'  Tell  Mrs.   Carlyle  that  I  have  written,  since  I  have 
been  here,  and  am  going  to  send  to  Blachvood,  a  humble 


TO    MADEIRA.  199 

imitation  of  her  Watch  and  Canary-Bird,  entitled  The  Suit 
of  Armor  and  the  Skeleton*  I  am  conscious  that  I  am  far 
from  having  reached  the  depth  and  fullness  of  despair  and 
mockery  which  distinguish  the  original !  But  in  truth 
there  is  a  lightness  of  tone  about  her  stjle,  -which  I  hold 
to  be  invaluable  :  where  she  makes  hairstrokes,  I  make 
blotches.  I  have  a  vehement  suspicion  that  my  Dialogue 
is  an  entire  failure ;  but  I  cannot  be  plagued  with  it  any 
longer.  Tell  her  I  will  not  send  her  messages,  but  will 
write  to  her  soon. — Meanwhile  I  am  affectionately  hers  and 
yours,  JojJN  Sterling.' 

The  next  is  to  his  Brother-in-law  ;  and  in  a  still  hope- 
fuller  tone  : 

'  To  Charles  Barton,  Usq.f 

'  Fauchal,  Madeira,  March  3,  1838. 

*Myd,ear  Charles, — I  have  often  been  thinking  of 
you  and  your  whereabouts  in  Germany,  and  wishing  I 
knew  more  about  you  ;  and  at  last  it  occurred  to  me  that 
you  might  perhaps  have  the  same  wish  about  me,  and  that 
therefore  I  should  do  well  to  write  to  you. 

'  I  have  been  here  exactly  four  months,  having  arrived 
on  the  2d  of  November, — my  wedding-day  ;  and  though 
you  perhaps  may  not  think  it  a  compliment  to  Susan,  I 
have  seldom  passed  four  months  more  cheerfully  and  agree- 
ably.    I  have  of  course  felt  my  absence  from  my  f\imily, 


*  Came  out,  as  will  soon  appear,  in  Blackwood  (February,  1838) 
t  Hotel  de  l Europe,  Berlin,^  added  in  Mrs.  Sterling's  hand. 


200  JOUN    STERLING. 

and  missed  the  society  of  my  friends ;  for  there  is  not  a 
person  here  whom  I  knew  before  I  left  England.  But,  on 
the  whole,  I  have  been  in  good  health,  and  actively  em- 
ployed. I  have  a  good  many  agreeable  and  valuable 
acquaintances,  one  or  two  of  whom  I  hope  I  may  hereafter 
reckon  as  friends.  The  weather  has  generally  been  fine, 
and  never  cold ;  and  the  scenery  of  the  Island  is  of  a 
beauty  which  you  unhappy  Northern  people  can  have  little 
conception  of. 

'  It  consists  of  a  great  mass  of  volcanic  mountains,  cov- 
ered in  their  lower  parts  with  cottages,  vines  and  patches 
of  vegetables.  When  you  pass  through,  or  over  the  central 
ridge,  and  get  towards  the  North,  there  are  woods  of  trees, 
of  the  laurel  kind,  covering  the  wild  steep  slopes,  and  form- 
ing some  of  the  strangest  and  most  beautiful  prospects  I 
have  ever  seen.  Towards  the  interior,  the  forms  of  the 
hills  become  more  abrupt,  and  loftier ;  and  give  the  notion 
of  very  recent  volcanic  disturbances,  though  in  fact  there 
has  been  nothing  of  the  kind  since  the  discovery  of  the 
Island  by  Europeans.  Among  these  mountains,  the  dark 
deep  precipices,  and  narrow  ravines  with  small  streams  at 
the  bottom  ;  the  basaltic  knobs  and  ridges  on  the  summits  ; 
and  the  perpetual  play  of  mist  and  cloud  around  them, 
under  this  bright  sun  and  clear  sky, — form  landscapes 
which  you  would  thoroughly  enjoy,  and  which  I  much  wish 
I  could  give  you  a  notion  of.  The  Town  is  on  the  south, 
and  of  course  the  sheltered  side  of  the  Island  ;  perfectly 
protected  from  the  North  and  East ;  although  we  have  seen 
sometimes  patches  of  bright  snow  on  the  dark  peaks  in  the 
distance.  It  is  a  neat  cheerful  place  ;  all  built  of  gray 
stone,  but  having  many  of  the  houses  colored  white  or  red. 


TO    MADEIRA.  201 

There  is  not  a  really  handsome  building  in  it,  but  there  is 
a  general  aspect  of  comfort  and  solidity.  The  shops  are 
very  poor.  The  English  do  not  mix  at  all  with  the  Portu- 
guese. The  Bay  is  a  very  bad  anchorage ;  but  is  wide, 
bright  and  cheerful  ;  and  there  are  some  picturesque  points, 
— one  a  small  black  island, — scattered  about  it. 

'  I  lived  till  a  fortnight  ago  in  lodgings,  having  two 
rooms,  one  a  very  good  one ;  and  paying  for  every  thing 
£fty-six  dollars  a  month,  the  dollar  being  four  shillings  and 
twopence.  This  you  will  see  is  dear ;  but  I  could  make  no 
better  arrangement,  for  there  is  an  unusual  affluence  of 
strangers  this  year.  I  have  now  come  to  live  with  a  friend, 
a  Dr.  Calvert,  in  a  small  house  of  our  own,  where  I  am 
much  more  comfortable,  and  live  greatly  cheaper.  He  is  a 
friend  of  Mrs.  Percival's  ;  about  my  age,  an  Oriel  man, 
and  a  very  superior  person.  I  think  the  chances  are,  we 
shall  go  home  together.'  *  *  *  <  j  cannot  tell  you  of 
all  the  other  people  I  have  become  familiar  with  ;  and  shall 
only  mention  in  addition  Bingham  Baring,  eldest  son  of 
Lord  Ashburton,  who  was  here  for  some  weeks  on  account 
of  a  dying  brother,  and  whom- 1  saw  a  great  deal  of.  He 
is  a  pleasant,  very  good-natured  and  rather  clever  man  : 
Conservative  Member  for  North  Staffordshire. 

'  During  the  first  two  months  I  was  here,  I  rode  a  great 
deal  about  the  Island,  having  a  horse  regularly ;  and  was 
much  in  agreeable  company,  seeing  a  great  deal  of  beautiful 
scenery.  Since  then,  the  weather  has  been  much  more 
unsettled,  though  not  cold  ;  and  I  have  gone  about  less,  as 
I  cannot  risk  the  being  wet.  But  I  have  spent  my  time 
pleasantly,  reading  and  writing.     I  have  written  a  good 


202  JOHN    STERLING. 

many  things  for  Blaehwood  ;  one  of  which,  the  Armor  and 
the  Skeleton^  I  see,  is  printed  in  the  February  Number.  I 
have  just  sent  them  a  long  Tale,  called  the  Onyx  Ring, 
■which  cost  mo  a  good  deal  of  trouble  ;  and  the  extravagance 
of  Avhich,  I  think  would  amuse  you ;  but  its  length  may 
prevent  its  appearance  in  Blaclcwood.  If  so,  I  think  I 
should  make  a  volume  of  it.  I  have  also  written  some 
poems ;  and  shall  probably  publish  the  /Sexton's  DaugMer 
when  I  return. 

'  My  health  goes  on  most  favorably.  I  have  had  no 
attack  of  the  chest  this  spring ;  which  has  not  happened  to 
me  since  the  spring  before  we  went  to  Bonn ;  and  I  am 
told,  if  I  take  care,  I  may  roll  along  for  years.  But  I 
have  little  hope  of  being  allowed  to  spend  the  four  first 
months  of  any  year  in  England  ;  and  the  question  will  be, 
Whether  to  go  at  once  to  Italy,  by  way  of  Germany  and 
Switzerland,  with  my  family,  or  to  settle  with  them  in  Eng- 
land, perhaps  at  Hastings,  and  go  abroad  myself  when  it 
may  be  necessary.  I  cannot  decide  till  I  return  ;  but  I 
think  the  latter  the  most  probable. 

'  To  my  dear  Charles  I  do  not  like  to  use  the  ordinary 
forms  of  ending  a  letter,  for  they  are  very  inadequate  to 
express  my  sense  of  your  long  and  most  unvarying  kind- 
ness ;  but  be  assured  no  one  living  could  say  with  more 
sincerity  that  he  is  ever  aflfectionately  yours, 

John  Sterling.' 

Other  Letters  give  cccasionally  views  of  the  shadier  side 
of  things  ;  dark  broken  weather,  in  the  sky  and  in  the 
mind  ;    ugly  clouds  covering  one's  poor  fitful  transitory 


TO    MADEIRA.  203 

prospect,  for  a  time,  as  they  might  well  do  in  Sterling's 
case.  MeanAvhile  we  perceive  his  literary  business  is  fast 
developing  itself;  amid  all  his  confusions,  he  is  never  idle 
long.  Some  of  his  best  Pieces, — the  Onyx  Hing,  for  one, 
as  we  perceive, — were  written  here  this  winter.  Out  of 
the  turbid  whirlpool  of  the  days  he  strives  assiduously  to 
snatch  what  he  can. 

Sterling's  communications  with  BlacJavood's  Magazine, 
had  now  issued  in  some  open  sanction  of  him  by  Professor 
Wilson,  the  distinguished  presiding  spirit  of  that  Periodical ; 
a  fact  naturally  of  high  importance  to  him  under  the  liter- 
ary point  of  view.  For  Wilson,  with  his  clear  flashing  eye 
and  great  genial  heart,  had  at  once  recognized  Sterling ; 
and  lavished  stormily,  in  his  wild  generous  way,  torrents  of 
praise  on  him  in  the  editorial  comments :  which  undoubt- 
edly was  one  of  the  gratefullest  literary  baptisms,  by  fire  or 
by  water,  that  could  befall  a  soul  like  Sterling's.  He  bore 
it  very  gently,  being  indeed  past  the  age  to  have  his  head 
turned  by  anybody's  praises  ;  nor  do  I  think  the  exaggera- 
tion that  was  in  these  eulogies  did  him  any  ill  whatever ; 
Avhile  surely  their  generous  encouragement  did  him  much 
good,  in  his  solitary  struggle  towards  new  activity  under 
such  impediments  as  his.  Laudari  a  laudato  ;  to  be  called 
noble  by  one  whom  you  and  the  world  recognize  as  noble : 
this  great  satisfaction,  never  perhaps  in  such  a  degree 
before  or  after,  had  now  been  vouchsafed  to  Sterling  ;  and 
was,  as  I  compute,  an  important  fact  for  him.  He  pro- 
ceeded on  his  pilgrimage  with  new  energy,  and  felt  more 
and  more  as  if  authentically  consecrated  to  the  same. 

The  Onyx  Ring,  a  curious  Tak,  with  wild  improbable 


204:  JOHN    STERLING. 

basis,  but  with  a  noble  glow  of  coloring  and  with  other  high 
merits  in  it,  a  Tale  still  worth  reading,  in  which,  among  the 
imaginary  characters,  various  friends  of  Sterling's  are 
shadowed  forth,  not  always  in  the  truest  manner,  came  out 
in  Blackwood  in  the  winter  of  this  year.  Surely  a  very 
high  talent  for  painting,  both  of  scenery  and  persons,  is 
visible  in  this  Fiction ;  the  promise  of  a  Novel  such  as  we 
have  few.  But  there  wants  maturing,  wants  purifying  of 
clear  from  unclear  ; — properly  there  want  patience  and 
steady  depth.  The  basis,  as  we  said,  is  wild  and  loose  ; 
and  in  the  details,  lucent  often  with  fine  color,  and  dipt  in 
beautiful  sunshine,  there  are  several  things  rmsseen,  untrue, 
which  is  the  worst  species  of  mispainting.  Witness,  as 
Sterling  himself  would  have  by  and  by  admitted,  the 
'  empty  clockcase '  (so  we  called  it)  which  he  has  labelled 
Goethe, — \Yhich  puts  all  other  untruths  in  the  Piece  to 
silence. 

One  of  the  great  alleviations  of  his  exile  at  Madeira  he 
has  already  celebrated  to  us  :  the  pleasant  circle  of  society 
he  fell  into  there.  Great  luck,  thinks  Sterling,  in  this 
voyage ;  as  indeed  there  was :  but  he  himself,  moreover, 
was  readier  than  most  men  to  fall  into  pleasant  circles 
everywhere,  being  singularly  prompt  to  make  the  most  of 
any  circle.  Some  of  his  Madeira  acquaintanceships  were 
really  good ;  and  one  of  them,  if  not  more,  ripened  into 
comradeship  and  friendship  for  him.  He  says,  as  we  saw, 
'  The  chances  are,  Calvert  and  I  will  come  together.' 

Among  the  English  in  pursuit  of  health,  or  in  flight  from 
fatal  disease,  that  winter,  was  this  Dr.  Calvert ;  an  excel- 


TO    MADEIRA.  205 

lent  ingenious  cheery  Cumberland  gentleman,  about  Ster- 
ling's age,  and  in  a  deeper  stage  of  ailment,  this  not  being 
his  first  visit  to  Madeira :  he,  warmly  joining  himself  to 
Sterling,  as  we  have  seen,  Avas  warmly  received  by  him ; 
so  that  there  soon  grew  a  close  and  free  intimacy  between 
them  ;  which  for  the  next  three  years,  till  poor  Calvert 
ended  his  course,  was  a  leading  element  in  the  history  of 
both.  Companionship  in  incurable  malady,  a  touching 
bond  of  union,  was  by  no  means  purely  or  chiefly  a  com- 
panionship in  misery  in  their  case.  The  sunniest  inextin- 
guishable cheerfulness  shone,  through  all  manner  of  clouds, 
in  both.  Calvert  had  been  traveling  physician  in  some 
family  of  rank,  Avho  had  rewarded  him  with  a  pension, 
shielding  his  own  ill  health  from  one  sad  evil.  Being 
hopelessly  gone  in  pulmonary  disorder,  he  now  moved 
about  among  friendly  climates  and  places,  seeking  what 
alleviation  there  might  be  ;  often  spending  his  summers  in 
the  house  of  a  sister  in  the  environs  of  London  ;  an  insa- 
tiable rider  on  his  little  brown  pony  ;  always,  wherever  you 
might  meet  him,  one  of  the  cheeriest  of  men.  He  had 
plenty  of  speculation  too,  clear  glances  of  all  kinds  into 
religious,  social,  moral  concerns  ;  and  pleasantly  incited 
Sterling's  outpourings  on  such  subjects.  He  could  re- 
port of  fashionable  persons  and  manners,  in  a  fine  human 
Cumberland  manner ;  loved  art,  a  great  collector  of  draw- 
ings ;  he  had  endless  help  and  ingenuity  ;  and  was  in  short 
every  way  a  very  human,  lovable,  good  and  nimble  man, — 
the  laughing  blue  eyes  of  him,  the  clear  cheery  soul  of  him, 
still  redolent  of  the  fresh  Northern  breezes  and  transparent 
Mountain  streams.  With  this  Calvert,  Sterling  formed  a 
18 


206  JOHN    STERLING. 

natural  intimacy  ;  and  they  were  to  each  other  a  great  pos- 
session, mutually  enlivening  many  a  dark  day  during  the 
next  three  years.  They  did  come  home  together  this 
spring  ;  and  subsequently  made  several  of  these  health- 
journeys  in  partnership. 


LITERATURE.  207 


CHAPTER    VI. 

literature:  the  sterling  club. 

In  spite  of  these  wanderings,  Sterling's  course  in  life,  so 
far  as  his  poor  life  could  have  any  course  or  aim  beyond 
that  of  screening  itself  from  swift  death,  was  getting  more 
and  more  clear  to  him  ;  and  he  pursued  it  diligently,  in  the 
only  way  permitted  him,  by  hasty  snatches,  in  the  intervals 
of  continual  fluctuation,  change  of  place  and  other  inter- 
ruption. 

Such,  once  for  all,  were  the  conditions  appointed  him. 
And  it  must  be  owned  he  had,  with  a  most  kindly  temper, 
adjusted  himself  to  these ;  nay  you  would  have  said,  he 
loved  them  ;  it  was  almost  as  if  he  would  have  chosen  them 
as  the  suitablest.  Such  an  adaptation  was  there  in  him  of 
volition  to  necessity  ; — for  indeed  they  both,  if  well  seen 
into,  proceeded  from  one  source.  Sterling's  bodily  disease 
was  the  expression,  under  physical  conditions,  of  the  too 
vehement  life  which,  under  the  moral,  the  intellectual  and 
other  aspects,  incessantly  struggled  within  him.  Too  ve- 
hement ; — which  would  have  required  a  frame  of  oak  and 
iron  to  contain  it :  in  a  thin  though  most  wiry  body  of  flesh 
and  bone,  it  incessantly  '  wore  holes,'  and  so  found  outlet 
for  itself.  He  could  take  no  rest,  he  had  never  learned 
that  art ;  he  was,  as  we  often  reproached  him,  fatally  inca- 
pable of  sitting  still.  Rapidity,  as  of  pulsing  auroras,  as  of 
dancing  lightnings  ;  rapidity  in  all  forms  characterized  him. 


208  JOHN    STERLING. 

This,  which  was  his  bane,  in  many  senses,  being  the  real 
origin  of  his  disorder,  and  of  such  continual  necessity  to 
move  and  change,  was  also  his  antidote  ;  so  far  as  antidote 
there  might  be  ;  enabling  him  to  love  change,  and  to  snatch, 
as  few  others  could  have  done,  from  the  waste  chaotic 
years,  all-  tumbled  into  ruin  by  incessant  change,  what  hours 
and  minutes  of  available  turned  up.  He  had  an  incredible 
facility  of  labor.  He  flashed  with  most  piercing  glance 
into  a  subject ;  gathered  it  up  into  organic  utterability, 
with  truly  wonderful  despatch,  considering  the  success  and 
truth  attained  ;  and  threw  it  on  paper  with  a  swift  felicity, 
ingenuity,  brilliancy  and  general  excellence,  of  which, 
under  such  conditions  of  swiftness,  I  have  never  seen  a 
parallel.  Essentially  an  improviser  genius;  as  his  Father 
too  was,  and  of  admirable  completeness  he  too,  though 
under  a  very  different  form. 

If  Sterling  has  done  little  in  Literature,  we  may  ask, 
"What  other  man  than  he,  in  such  circumstances,  could  have 
done  any  thing  ?  In  virtue  of  these  rapid  faculties,  which 
otherwise  cost  him  so  dear,  he  has  built  together,  out  of 
those  wavering  boiling  quicksands  of  his  few  later  years,  a 
result  which  may  justly  surprise  us.  There  is  actually 
some  result  in  those  poor  Two  Volumes  gathered  from  him, 
such  as  they  are  ;  he  that  reads  there  will  not  wholly  lose 
his  time,  nor  rise  with  a  malison  instead  of  a  blessing  on  the 
writer.  Here  actually  is  a  real  tSeer-glance,  of  some  com- 
pass, into  the  world  of  our  day ;  blessed  glance,  once  more, 
of  an  eye  that  is  human  ;  truer  than  one  of  a  thousand,  and 
beautifully  capable  of  making  others  see  with  it.  I  have 
known  considerable  temporary  reputations  gained,  consid- 
erable piles  of  temporary  guineas,  with  loud  reviewing  and 


THE    STERLING    CLUB.  209 

the  like  to  match,  on  a  far  less  basis  than  lies  in  those  two 
volumes.  Those  also,  I  expect,  will  be  held  in  memory  by 
the  world,  one  way  or  other,  till  the  world  has  extracted  all 
its  benefit  from  them.  Graceful,  ingenious  and  illuminative 
reading,  of  their  sort,  for  all  manner  of  inquiring  souls.  A 
little  verdant  flowery  island  of  poetic  intellect,  of  melodious 
human  verity  ;  sunlit  island  founded  on  the  rocks  ; — 
■which  the  enormous  circumambient  contents  of  mown  reed- 
grass  and  floating  lumber,  with  their  mountain-ranges  of- 
ejected  stable-litter  however  alpine,  cannot  by  any  means 
or  chance  submerge :  nay,  I  expect,  they  will  not  even 
quite  hide  it,  this  modest  little  island,  from  the  well-discern- 
ing ;  but  -will  float  past  it  towards  the  place  appointed  for 
them,  and  leave  said  island  standing.  Allah  kereem,  say 
the  Arabs  !  And  of  the  English  also  some  still  know  that 
there  is  a  difference  in  the  material  of  mountains  ! — 

As  it  is  this  last  little  result,  the  amount  of  his  poor  and 
ever-interrupted  literary  labor,  that  henceforth  forms  the 
essential  history  of  Sterling,  we  need  not  dwell  at  too  much 
length  on  the  foreign  journeys,  disanchorings,  and  nomadic 
vicissitudes  of  household,  which  occupy  his  few  remaining 
years,  and  which  are  only  the  disastrous  and  accidental 
arena  of  this.  He  had  now,  excluding  his  early  and  more 
deliberate  residence  in  the  West  Indies,  made  two  flights 
abroad,  once  with  his  family,  once  without,  in  search  of 
health.  He  had  two  more,  in  rapid  succession,  to  make, 
and  many  more  to  meditate  ;  and  in  the  whole  from  Bays- 
water  to  the  end,  his  family  made  no  fewer  than  five  com- 
plete changes  of  abode,  for  his  sake.  But  these  cannot  be 
accepted  as  in  any  sense  epochs  in  his  life  :  the  one  last 
18* 


210  ■        JOHN    STERLING. 

epoch  of  his  Ufe  was  that  of  his  internal  change  towards 
Literature  as  his  work  in  the  world ;  and  we  need  not 
linger  much  on  these,  which  are  the  mere  outer  accidents 
of  that,  and  had  no  distinguished  influence  in  modifying 
that. 

Friends  still  hoped  the  unrest  of  that  brilliant  too-rapid 
soul  would  abate  with  years.  Nay  the  doctors  sometimes 
promised,  on  the  physical  side,  a  like  result ;  prophesying 
that,  at  forty-five  or  some  mature  age,  the  stress  of  disease 
might  quit  the  lungs,  and  direct  itself  to  other  quarters  of 
the  system.  But  no  such  result  was  appointed  for  us  : 
neither  forty-five  itself,  nor  the  ameliorations  promised 
then,  were  ever  to  be  reached.  Four  voyages  abroad, 
three  of  them  without  his  family,  in  flight  from  death ;  and 
at  home,  for  a  like  reason,  five  complete  shiftings  of  abode  : 
in  such  wandering  manner,  and  not  otherwise,  had  Sterling 
to  continue  bis  pilgrimage  till  it  ended. 

Once  more  I  must  say,  his  cheerfulness  throughout  was 
wonderful.  A  certain  grimmer  shade,  coming  gradually 
over  him,  might  perhaps  be  noticed  in  the  concluding 
years  ;  not  impatience  properly,  yet  the  consciousness  how 
much  he  needed  patience  ;  something  more  caustic  in  his 
tone  of  wit,  more  trenchant  and  indignant  occasionally  in 
his  tone  of  speech :  but  at  no  moment  was  his  activity 
bewildered  or  abated,  nor  did  his  composure  ever  give  way. 
No  ;  both  his  activity  and  his  composure  he  bore  with  him, 
through  all  weathers,  to  the  final  close  ;  and  on  the  whole, 
right  manfully  he  walked  his  wild  stern  way  towards  the 
goal,  and  like  a  Roman  wrapt  his  mantle  round  him  when 
he  fell.  Let  us  glance,  with  brevity,  at  what  he  saw  and 
suffered  in  his  remaining  pilgrimings  and  changings  ;  and 


THE    STEELING    CLUB.  211 

count  up  what  fractions  of  spiritual  fruit  he  realized  to  us 
from  them. 

Calvert  and  he  returned  from  Madeira  in  spring  1838. 
Mrs.  Sterling  and  the  family  had  lived  in  Knightsbridge 
with  his  Father's  people  through  winter  :  they  now  changed 
to  Blackheath,  or  ultimately  Hastings,  and  he  with  them, 
coming  up  to  London  pretty  often  ;  uncertain  what  was  to 
he  done  for  next  winter.  Literature  went  on  briskly  here  : 
Rlaehwood  had  from  him,  besides  the  Onyx  Ring  which 
soon  came  out  with  due  honor,  assiduous  almost  monthly 
contributions  in  prose  and  verse.  The  series  called  Hymns 
of  a  Hermit  was  now  going  on  ;  eloquent  melodies,  tainted 
to  me  with  something  of  the  same  disease  as  the  Sexton'' s 
Baugliter,  though  perhaps  in  a  less  degree,  considering 
that  the  strain  was  in  a  so  much  higher  pitch.  Still  better, 
in  clear  eloquent  prose,  the  series  of  detached  thoughts 
entitled  Crystals  from  a  Cavern  ;  of  which  the  set  of  frag, 
ments,  generally  a  little  larger  in  compass,  called  Tlioughts 
and  Images  and  again  those  called  Sayings  and  Essay, 
ings*  are  properly  continuations.  Add  to  which,  his 
friend  John  Mill  had  now  charge  of  a  Review,  The  Lon- 
don and  Westminster  its  name  ;  wherein  Sterling's  assist- 
ance, ardently  desired,  was  freely  afforded,  with  satisfac- 
tion to  both  parties,  in  this  and  the  following  years.  An 
Essay  on  3Iontaigne,  with  the  notes  and  reminiscences  al- 
ready spoken  of,  was  Sterling's  first  contribution  here ;  then 
one  on  Simonides  ;f  both  of  the  present  season. 

On  these  and  other  businesses,  slight  or  important,  he 
was  often  running  up  to  London  ;  and  gave  us  almost  the 

*  Hare,  ii.  95-167.  fib.  i.  129, 188. 


212  JOHN    STERLING. 

feeling  of  his  being  resident  among  us.  In  order  to  meet 
the  most  or  a  good  many  of  his  friends  at  once  on  such 
occasions,  he  now  furthermore  contrived  the  scheme  of  a 
little  Club,  where  monthly  over  a  frugal  dinner  some  re- 
union might  take  place  ;  that  is,  where  friends  of  his,  and 
withal  such  friends  of  theirs  as  suited, — and  in  fine,  where 
a  small  select  company  definable  as  persons  to  whom  it  was 
pleasant  to  talk  together, — might  have  a  little  opportunity 
of  talking.  The  scheme  was  approved  by  the  persons 
concerned  :  I  have  a  copy  of  the  Original  Regulations, 
probably  drawn  up  by  Sterling,  a  very  solid  lucid  piece  of 
economics  ;  and  the  List  of  the  proposed  Members,  signed 
'  James  Spedding,  Secretary,'  and  dated '  8  August,  1838.'* 

*  Here  iu  a  Note  they  are,  if  they  cau  be  important  to  any  body.     The 

marks  of  interrogation,  attached  to  some  Names   as  not  yet  consulted,  or 

otherwise  questionable,  are  in  the  Secretary's  hand  : 

J.  D.  Acland.  Esq,  H.  Maiden,  Esq. 

Hon.  W.  B.  Baring.  J.  S.  Jlill,  Esq. 

Rev.  J.  W.  Blakeslcy.  R.  M.  Milnes,  Esq. 

W.  Boxall,  Esq.  E.  Monteith,Esq. 

T.  Carlyle,  Esq.  S.  A.  O'Brien,  Esq. 

Hon.  E.  Cavendish  (?)  Sir  F.  Palgrave  (?) 

H.  N.  Coleridge,  Esq.  (?)  W.  F.  PoUok,  Esq. 

J.  W.  Colville,  Esq.  Philip  Pusey,  Esq. 

Allan  Cunningham,  Esq.  (?)  A.  Eio,  Esq. 

Rev.  H.  Bonn.  C.  Eomilly,  Esq. 

F.  H.  Doyle,  Esq.  James  Spedding,  Esq. 

C.  L.  Eastlake,  Esq.  Eev.  John  Sterling. 
Alex.  Ellice,  Esq.                                  Alfred  Tennyson,  Esq. 
J.  F.  Elliot,  Esq.  Eev.  Connop  Thirlwall. 
Copley  Fielding,  Esq.                           Eev.  W.  Hepworth  Thompson. 
Rev.  J.  C.  Hare.  ~           Edward  Twistleton,  Esq. 

Sir  Edmund  Head  (?)  G.  S.  Venables,  Esq. 

D.  D.  Heath,  Esq.  Samuel  Wood,  Esq. 

G.  C.  Lewis,  Esq.  Eev.  T.  Worsley. 
H.  L.  Lushington,  Esq.  

The  Lord  Lyttleton.  James  Spedding,  Secretary. 

C.  Macarthy,  Esq.  August  S,  1838. 


THE    STERLING    CLUB.  213 

The  Club  gre\Y ;  was  at  first  called  the  Anonymous  Club  ; 
then,  after  some  months  of  success,  in  compliment  to  the 
founder  who  had  now  left  us  again,  the  Sterling  Club  ; — 
under  which  latter  name,  it  once  lately,  for  a  time,  owing 
to  the  Religious  Newspapers,  became  rather  famous  in  the 
world  !  In  Avhich  strange  circumstances  the  name  was 
again  altered,  to  suit  weak  brethren ;  and  the  Club  still 
subsists,  in  a  sufficiently  flourishing  though  happily  once 
more  a  private  condition.  That  is  the  origin  and  genesis 
of  poor  Sterling's  Club ;  which,  having  honestly  paid  the 
shot  for  itself  at  Will's  ColFee-House  or  elsewhere,  rashly 
fancied  its  bits  of  aifairs  were  quite  settled  ;  and  once  little 
thought  of  getting  into  Books  of  History  with  them  ! — 

But  now,  Autumn  approaching.  Sterling  had  to  quit 
Clubs,  for  matters  of  sadder  consideration.  A  new  remo- 
val, what  we  call  '  his  third  peregrinity,'  had  to  be  decided 
on  ;  and  it  was  resolved  that  Rome  should  be  the  goal  of 
it,  the  journey  to  be  done  in  company  with  Calvert,  whom 
also  the  Italian  climate  miirht  be  made  to  serve  instead  of 
Madeii'a.  One  of  the  liveliest  recollections  I  have,  con- 
nected with  the  Anonymous  Club,  is  that  of  once  escorting 
Sterling,  after  a  certain  meeting  there,  which  I  had  seen 
only  towards  the  end,  and  now  remember  nothing  of, — 
except  that,  on  breaking  up,  he  proved  to  be  encumbered 
with  a  carpet-bag,  and  could  not  at  once  find  a  cab  for 
Knightsbridge.  Some  small  bantering  hereupon,  during 
the  instants  of  embargo.  But  we  carried  his  carpet-bag, 
slinging  it  on  my  stick,  two  or  three  of  us  alternately, 
through  dusty  vacant  streets,  under  the  gas-lights  and  the 
stars,  towards  the  surest  cab-stand ;  still  jesting,  or  pre- 


214  JOHN    STERLING. 

tending  to  jest,  he  and  we,  not  in  the  mirthfullest  manner  ; 
and  had  (I  suppose)  our  own  feelings  about  the  poor 
Pilgrim,  who  was  to  go  on  the  morrow,  and  had  hurried  to 
meet  us  in  this  waj,  as  the  last  thing  before  leaving  Eng- 
land. 


ITALY.  215 


CHAPTER    VII. 


ITALY. 


The  journey  to  Italy  was  undertaken  by  advice  of  Sir 
James  Clark,  reckoned  the  chief  authority  in  pulmonary 
therapeutics ;  -who  prophesied  important  improvements 
from  it,  and  perhaps  even  the  possibility  henceforth  of  liv- 
ing all  the  year  in  some  English  home.  Mrs.  Sterling 
and  the  children  continued  in  a  house  avowedly  temporary, 
a  furnished  house  at  Hastings,  through  the  winter.  The 
two  friends  had  set  off  for  Belgium,  while  the  due  warmth 
was  still  in  the  air.  They  traversed  Belgium,  looking  well 
at  pictures  and  such  objects  ;  ascended  the  Rhine  ;  rapidly 
traversed  Switzerland  and  the  Alps  ;  issuing  upon  Italy 
and  Milan,  with  immense  appetite  for  pictures,  and  time 
still  to  gratify  themselves  in  that  pursuit,  and  be  deliberate 
in  their  approach  to  Rome.  We  will  take  this  free-flowing 
sketch  of  their  passage  over  the  Alps  ;  written  amid  '  the 
rocks  of  the  Arona,' — Santo  Borromeo's  country,  and  poor 
little  Mignon's !  The  '  elder  Perdonnets '  are  opulent 
Lausanne  people,  to  whose  late  son  Sterling  had  been  very 
kind  in  Madeira  the  year  before : 

*  To  Mrs.  Sterling^  KnigJitshridc/e,  London. 

'  Arona,  on  the  Lago  Maggiore,  Oct.  8th,  1838. 

*  My  dear  Mother, — I  bring  down  the  story  of  my  pro- 
ceedings to  the  present  time  since  the  29th  of  September. 


216  JOHN    STERLING. 

I  think  it  must  have  been  after  that  day  that  I  was  at  a 
great  breakfast  at  the  elder  Perdonnets',  with  whom  I  had 
decUned  to  dine,  not  choosing  to  go  out  at  night.  *  *  * 
I  was  taken  bj  my  hostess  to  see  several  pretty  pleasure- 
grounds  and  points  of  view  in  the  neighborhood  ;  and  lat- 
terly Calvert  was  better,  and  able  to  go  with  us.  He  was 
in  force  again,  and  our  passports  were  all  settled  so  as  to 
enable  us  to  start  in  the  morning  of  the  2d,  after  taking  leave 
of  our  kind  entertainer  with  thanks  for  her  infinite  kindness. 

'  We  reached  St.  Maurice  early  that  evening ;  having 
had  the  Dent  du  Midi  close  to  us  for  several  hours  ;  glit- 
tering like  the  top  of  a  silver  teapot,  far  up  in  the  sky. 
Our  course  lay  along  the  Valley  of  the  Rhone ;  which  is 
considered  one  of  the  least  beautiful  parts  of  Switzerland, 
and  perhaps  for  this  reason  pleased  us,  as  we  had  not  been 
prepared  to  expect  much.  We  saw,  before  reaching  the 
foot  of  the  Alpine  pass  at  Brieg,  two  rather  celebrated 
Waterfalls  ;  the  one  the  Pissevache,  which  has  no  more 
beauty  than  any  waterfall  one  hundred  or  two  hundred  feet 
high  must  necessarily  have  :  the  other  near  Tourtemagne 
is  much  more  pleasing,  having  foliage  round  it,  and  being 
in  a  secluded  dell.  If  you  buy  a  Swiss  Waterfall,  choose 
this  one. 

*  Our  second  day  took  us  through  Martigny  to  Sion, 
celebrated  for  its  picturesque  towers  upon  detached  hills, 
for  its  strong  Romanism  and  its  population  of  cretins, — 
that  is,  maimed  idiots,  having  the  goitre.  It  looked  to  us 
a  more  thriving  place  than  we  expected.  They  are  build- 
ing a  great  deal ;  among  other  things,  a  new  Bishop's  Pal- 
ace and  a  new  Nunnery, — to  inhabit  either  of  which  ex 
officio  I  feel  myself  very  unsuitable.     From  Sion  we  came 


ITALY.  217 

to  Brieg ;  a  little  village  in  a  nook,  close  under  an  enor- 
mous mountain  and  glacier,  where  it  lies  like  a  molehill,  or 
something  smaller,  at  the  foot  of  a  haystack.  Here  also 
we  slept ;  and  the  next  day  our  voiturier,  who  had  brought 
us  from  Lausanne,  started  with  us  up  the  Simplon  Pass; 
helped  on  by  two  extra  horses. 

'  The  beginning  of  the  road  was  rather  cheerful ;  having 
a  good  deal  of  green  pasturage,  and  some  mountain  villa- 
ges ;  but  it  soon  becomes  dreary  and  savage  in  aspect,  and 
but  for  our  bright  sky  and  warm  air,  would  have  been  truly 
dismal.  However,  we  gained  gradually  a  distinct  and 
near  view  of  several  large  glaciers ;  and  reached  at  last 
the  high  and  melancholy  valley  of  the  Upper  Alps ;  where 
even  the  pines  become  scanty,  and  no  sound  is  heard  but 
the  wheels  of  one's  carriage,  except  when  there  happens  to 
be  a  storm  or  an  avalanche,  neither  of  which  entertained 
us.  There  is,  here  and  there,  a  small  stream  of  water 
pouring  from  the  snow ;  but  this  is  rather  a  monotonous 
accompaniment  to  the  general  desolation  than  an  interrup- 
tion of  it.  The  road  itself  is  certainly  very  good,  and 
impresses  one  with  a  strong  notion  of  human  power.  But 
the  common  descriptions  are  much  exaggerated  ;  and  many 
of  what  the  Guide-Books  call  "  galleries  "  are  merely  parts 
of  the  road  supported  by  a  wall  built  against  the  rock,  and 
have  nothing  like  a  roof  above  them.  The  "  stupendous 
bridges,"  as  they  are  called,  might  be  packed,  a  dozen 
together,  into  one  arch  of  London  Bridge  ;  and  they  are 
seldom  even  very  striking  from  the  depth  below.  The 
roadway  is  excellent,  and  kept  in  the  best  order.  On  the 
whole,  I  am  very  glad  to  have  traveled  the  most  famous 
road  in  Europe,  and  to  have  had  delightful  weather  for 
19 


218  JOHN    STERLING. 

doing  so,  as  indeed  yte  have  had  ever  since  ■we  left  Lau- 
sanne. The  Italian  /itsC';nt  is  greatly  more  remarkable 
than  the  other  side. 

'  We  slept  near  the  top,  at  the  Village  of  Simplon,  in  a 
very  fair  and  -well-warmed  inn,  close  to  a  mountain  stream, 
■which  is  one  of  the  great  ornaments  of  this  side  of  the 
road.  We  have  here  passed  into  a  region  of  granite,  from 
that  of  limestone  and  -what  is  called  gneiss.  The  valleys 
are  sharper  and  closer, — like  cracks  in  a  hard  and  solid 
mass ;  and  there  is  much  more  of  the  startling  contrast  of 
light  and  shade,  as  -well  as  more  angular  boldness  of  out- 
line ;  to  all  -which  the  more  abundant  -waters  add  a  fresh 
and  vivacious  interest.  Looking  back  through  one  of  these 
abysmal  gorges,  one  sees  t-vv'O  torrents  dashing  together ; 
the  precipice  and  ridge  on  one  side,  pitch-black  -with  shade  ; 
and  thai  on  the  other  all  flaming  gold  ;  Avhile  behind  rises, 
in  a  huge  cone,  one  of  the  glacier  summits  of  the  chain. 
The  stream  at  one's  feet  rushes  at  a  leap  some  two  hundred 
feet  down,  and  is  bordered  with  pines  and  beeches,  strug- 
gling through  a  ruined  world  of  clefts  and  boulders.  I 
never  saw  any  thing  so  much  resembling  some  of  the 
Circles  described  by  Dante.  From  Simplon  we  made  for 
Duomo  d'Ossola ;  having  broken  out,  as  through  the  mouth 
of  a  mine,  into  green  and  fertile  valleys  full  of  vines  and 
chestnuts,  and  white  villages, — in  short,  into  sunshine  and 
Italy. 

'  At  this  place  we  dismissed  our  Swiss  voiturier,  and 
took  an  Italian  one  ;  who  conveyed  us  to  Omegna  on  the 
Lake  of  Orta ;  a  place  little  visited  by  English  travelers, 
but  which  fully  repaid  us  the  trouble  of  going  there.  We 
were  lodged  in  a  simple  and  even  rude  Italian  inn ;  where 


ITALY. 


219 


they  cannot  speak  a  "word  of  French  ;  -where  we  occupied 
a  barnlike  room,  with  a  huge  chimney  fit  to  lodge  a  hun- 
dred ghosts,  whom  we  expelled  by  dint  of  a  hot  woodfire. 
There  were  two  beds,  and  as  it  happened  good  ones,  in  this 
strange  old  apartment ;  which  was  adorned  by  pictures  of 
Architecture,  and  by  Heads  of  Saints,  better  than  many 
at  the  Royal  Academy  Exhibition,  and  which  one  paid 
nothing  for  looking  at.  The  thorough  Italian  character  of 
the  whole  scene  amused  us,  much  more  than  Maurice's  at 
Paris  would  have  done  ;  for  we  had  voluble,  commonplace 
good  humor,  with  the  aspect  and  accessories  of  a  den  of 
banditti. 

'  To-day  we  have  seen  the  Lake  of  Orta,  have  walked  for 
some  miles  among  its  vineyards  and  chestnuts  ;  and  thence 
have  come,  by  Baveno,  to  this  place  ; — having  seen  by  the 
way,  I  believe,  the  most  beautiful  part  of  the  Lago  Mag- 
giore,  and  certainly  the  most  cheerful,  complete  and  ex- 
tended example  of  fine  scenery  I  have  ever  fallen  in  with. 
Here  we  are,  much  to  my  wonder, — for  it  seems  too  good 
to  be  true, — fairly  in  Italy  ;  and  as  yet  my  journey  has 
been  a  pleasanter  and  more  instructive,  and  in  point  of 
health  a  more  successful  one,  than  I  at  all  imagined 
possible.  Calvert  and  I  go  on  as  well  as  can  be.  I  let 
him  have  his  way  about  natural  science,  and  he  only  laughs 
benignly  when  he  thinks  me  absurd  in  my  moral  specula- 
tions. My  only  regrets  are  caused  by  my  separation  from 
my  family  and  friends,  and  by  the  hurry  I  have  been  living 
in,  which  has  prevented  me  doing  any  work, — and  com- 
pelled me  to  write  to  you  at  a  good  deal  faster  rate  than 
the  vapore  moves  on  the  Lago  Maggiore.  It  will  take  me 
tomorrow  to  Sesto  Calende,  whence  we  go  to  Varese.    We 


220  JOHN    STERLING. 

shall  not  be  in  Milan  for  some  days.  Write  thither,  if  you 
are  kind  enough  to  write  at  all,  till  I  give  you  another 
address.     Love  to  my  Father. 

Your  affectionate  son, 

'  John  Sterling.' 

Omitting  Milan,  Florence  nearly  all,  and  much  about 
'  Art,'  Michael  Angelo,  and  other  aerial  matters,  here  are 
some  select  terrestrial  glimpses,  the  fittest  I  can  find,  of 
his  progress  towards  Rome  : 

iMcca,  Nov.  2Wi,  1838  (To  Us  Mother).—'  I  had 
dreams,  like  other  people,  before  I  came  here,  of  what  the 
Lombard  Lakes  must  be  ;  and  the  week  I  spent  among 
them  has  left  me  an  image,  not  only  more  distinct,  but  far 
more  warm,  shining  and  various,  and  more  deeply  attract- 
ive in  innumerable  respects,  than  all  I  had  before  con- 
ceived of  them.  And  so  also  it  has  been  with  Florence ; 
where  I  spent  three  weeks  :  enough  for  the  first  hazy  radi- 
ant dawn  of  sympathy  to  pass  away  ;  yet  constantly  adding 
an  increase  of  knowledge  and  of  love,  while  I  examined, 
and  tried  to  understand,  the  wonderful  minds  that  have 
left  behind  them  there  such  abundant  traces  of  their  pres- 
ence.' '  On  Sunday,  the  day  before  I  left  Florence,  I 
went  to  the  highest  part  of  the  Grand  Duke's  Garden  of 
Boboli,  which  commands  a  view  of  most  of  the  City,  and 
of  the  vale  of  the  Arno  to  the  westward ;  where,  as  we 
had  been  visited  by  several  rainy  days,  and  now  at  last 
had  a  very  fine  one,  the  whole  prospect  was  in  its  highest 
beauty.  The  mass  of  buildings,  chiefly  on  the  other  side 
of  the  River,  is  sufficient  to  fill  the  eye,  without  perplex- 
ing the  mind  by  vastness  like  that  of  London ;   and  its 


ITALY.  221 

name  and  history,  its  outline  and  large  and  picturesque 
buildings,  give  a  grandeur  of  a  higher  order  than  that  of 
mere  multitudinous  extent.  The  hills  that  border  the  Val- 
ley of  the  Arno  are  also  very  pleasing  and  striking  to  look 
upon  ;  and  the  view  of  the  rich  Plain,  glimmering  away 
into  blue  distance,  covered  with  an  endless  web  of  villages 
and  country-houses,  is  one  of  the  most  delightful  images  of 
human  well-being  I  have  ever  seen.' — 

*  Very  shortly  before  leaving  Florence,  I  went  through 
the  house  of  Michael  Angelo  ;  which  is  still  possessed  by 
persons  of  the  same  family,  descendants,  I  believe,  of  his 
Nephew.  There  is  in  it  his  "  first  work  in  marble,"  as  it 
is  called  ;  and  a  few  drawings, — all  with  the  stamp  of  his 
enginery  upon  them,  which  was  more  powerful  than  all  the 
steam  in  London.' — '  On  the  whole,  though  I  have  done  no 
work  in  Florence  that  can  be  of  any  use  or  pleasure  to 
others,  except  my  Letters  to  my  Wife, — I  leave  it  with  the 
certainty  of  much  valuable  knowledge  gained  there,  and 
with  a  most  pleasant  remembrance  of  the  busy  and  thought- 
ful days  I  owe  to  it. 

'  "We  left  Florence  before  seven  yesterday  morning,' 
-26th  November  ;  '  for  this  place  ;  traveling  on  the  north- 
ern side  of  the  Arno,  by  Prato,  Pistoia,  Pescia.  We  tried 
to  see  some  old  frescoes  in  a  Church  at  Prato  ;  but  found 
the  priests  all  about,  saying  mass ;  and  of  course  did  not 
venture  to  put  our  hands  into  a  hive  where  the  bees  were 
buzzing  and  on  the  wing.  Pistoia  we  only  coasted.  A 
little  on  one  side  of  it,  there  is  a  Hill,  the  first  on  the  road 
from  Florence  ;  which  we  walked  up,  and  had  a  very  lively 
and  brilliant  prospect  over  the  road  we  had  just  traveled, 
19* 


222  JOHN    STERLING. 

and  the  Town  of  Pistoia.  Thence  to  this  place  the  -whole 
land  is  beautiful,  and  in  the  highest  degree  prosperous, — 
in  short,  to  speak  metaphorically,  all  dotted  with  Leghorn 
bonnets,  and  streaming  with  olive-oil.  The  girls  here  are 
said  to  employ  themselves  chiefly  in  platting  straw,  which 
is  a  profitable  employment ;  and  the  slightness  and  quiet  of 
the  work  are  said  to  be  much  more  favorable  to  beauty 
than  the  coarser  kinds  of  labor  performed  by  the  country- 
women elsewhere.  Certain  it  is  that  I  saw  more  pretty 
women  in  Pescia,  in  the  hour  I  spent  there,  than  I  ever 
before  met  with  among  the  same  numbers  of  the  "  phare 
sect."  Wherefore,  as  a  memorial  of  them,  I  bought  there 
several  Legends  of  Female  Saints  and  Martyrs,  and  of 
other  Ladies  quite  the  reverse  and  held  up  as  warnings  ; 
all  of  which  are  written  in  ottava  rima,  and  sold  for  three- 
halfpence  apiece.  But  unhappily  I  have  not  yet  had  time 
to  read  them.  This  Town  has  30,000  inhabitants,  and  is 
surrounded  by  Walls,  laid  out  as  walks,  and  evidently  not 
at  present  intended  to  be  besieged, — for  which  reason,  this 
morning,  I  merely  walked  on  them  round  the  Town,  and 
did  not  besiege  them.' 

'  The  Cathedral '  of  Lucca  '  contains  some  relics ;  which 
have  undoubtedly  worked  miracles  on  the  imagination  of 
the  people  hereabouts.  The  Grandfather  of  all  Eelics  (as 
the  Arabs  would  say)  in  the  place  is  the  VoUo  Santo, 
■which  is  a  Face  of  the  Saviour  appertaining  to  a  wooden 
Crucifix.  Now  you  must  know  that,  after  the  ascension  of 
Christ,  Nicodemus  was  ordered  by  an  Angel  to  carve  an 
image  of  him ;  and  went  accordingly  with  a  hatchet,  and 
cut  down  a  cedar  for  that  purpose.  He  then  proceeded  to 
carve  the  figure ;  and  being  tired,  fell  asleep  before  he  had 


ITALY.  223 

done  the  face  ;  which  however,  on  awaking,  he  found  com- 
pleted bj  celestial  aid.  This  image  was  brought  to  Lucca 
from  Leghorn  I  think,  where  it  had  arrived  in  a  ship, 
"  more  than  a  thousand  years  ago,"  and  has  ever  since 
been  kept,  in  purple  and  fine  linen  and  gold  and  diamonds, 
quietly  working  miracles.  I  saw  the  gilt  Shrine  of  it ;  and 
also  a  Hatchet  which  refused  to  cut  off  the  head  of  an 
innocent  man,  who  had  been  condemned  to  death,  and  who 
prayed  to  the  Volto  Santo.  I  suppose  it  is  by  way  of 
economy  (they  being  a  frugal  people)  that  the  Italians 
have  their  Book  of  Common  Prayer  and  their  Arabian 
Nights'  Entertainments  condensed  into  one.' 

Pisa,  December  2d,  1838  (^To  the  same'). — '  Pisa  is  very 
unfairly  treated  in  all  the  Books  I  have  read.  It  seems  to 
me  a  quiet,  but  very  agreeable  place  ;  with  wide  clean 
streets,  and  a  look  of  stability  and  comfort ;  and  I  admire 
the  Cathedral  and  its  appendages  more,  the  more  I  see 
them.  The  leaning  of  the  Tower  is  to  my  eye  decidedly 
unpleasant ;  but  it  is  a  beautiful  building  nevertheless,  and 
the  view  from  the  top  is,  under  a  bright  sky,  remarkably 
lively  and  satisfactory.  The  Lucchese  Hills  form  a  fine 
mass,  and  the  sea  must  in  clear  weather  be  very  distinct. 
There  was  some  haze  over  it  when  I  was  up,  though  the 
land  was  all  clear.  I  could  just  see  the  Leghorn  Light- 
house.    Leghorn  itself  I  shall  not  be  able  to  visit.' 

'  The  quiet  gracefulness  of  Italian  life,  and  the  mental 
maturity  and  vigor  of  Germany,  have  a  great  charm  when 
compared  with  the  restless  whirl  of  England,  and  the  chorus 
of  minged  yells  and  groans  sent  up  by  our  parties  and  sects, 
and  by  the  suffering  and  bewildered  crowds  of  the  laboring 


224  JOHN    STERLING. 

people.  Our  politics  malje  my  lieart  ache,  whenever  I 
think  of  them.  The  base  selfish  frenzies  of  factions  seem 
to  me,  at  this  distance,  half  diabolic  ;  and  I  am  out  of  the 
way  of  knowing  any  thing  that  may  be  quietly  adoing  to 
elevate  the  standard  of  wise  and  temperate  manhood  in  the 
country,  and  to  diffuse  the  means  of  physical  and  moral 
wellbeing  among  all  the  people.' — '  I  will  write  to  my 
Father  as  soon  as  I  can  after  reaching  the  capital  of  his 
friend  the  Pope, — who,  if  he  had  happened  to  be  born  an 
Eno-lish  gentleman,  would  no  doubt  by  this  time  be  a 
respectable  old-gentlemanly  gouty  member  of  the  Carlton. 
I  have  often  amused  myself  by  thinking  what  a  mere  acci- 
dent it  is  that  Phillpotts  is  not  Archbishop  of  Tuam,  and 
M'Hale  Bishop  of  Exeter  ;  and  how  shght  a  change  of 
dress,  and  of  a  few  catchwords,  would  even  now  enable 
them  to  fill  those  respective  posts  with  all  the  propriety  and 
discretion  they  display  in  their  present  positions.' 

At  Rome  he  found  the  Crawfords,  known  to  him  long 
since  ;  and  at  different  dates  other  English  friends  old  and 
new ;  and  was  altogether  in  the  liveliest  humor,  no  end  to 
his  activities  and  speculations.  Of  all  which,  during  the 
next  four  months,  the  Letters  now  before  me  give  abundant 
record, — far  too  abundant  for  our  objects  here.  His  grand 
pursuit,  as  natural  at  Rome,  was  Art ;  into  which  metaphy- 
sical domain  we  shall  not  follow  him  ;  preferring  to  pick 
out,  here  and  there,  something  of  concrete  and  human.  Of 
his  interests,  researches,  speculations  and  descriptions  on 
this  subject  of  Art,  there  is  always  rather  a  superabundance, 
especially  in  the  Italian  Tour.  Unfortunately,  in  the  hard 
weather,  poor  Calvert  fell  ill  ;  and  Sterling,  along  with  his 


ITALY.  225 

Art-studies,  distinguished  himself  as  a  sick-nurse  till  his 
poor  comrade  got  afoot  again.  His  general  impressions  of 
the  scene  and  what  it  held  for  him  may  be  read  in  the 
following  excerpts.  The  Letters  are  all  dated  Rome,  and 
addressed  to  his  Father  or  Mother  :     ^ 

December  21st,  1838. — '  Of  Rome  itself,  as  a  whole, 
there  are  infinite  things  to  be  said,  well  worth  saying  ;  but 
I  shall  confine  myself  to  two  remarks  :  first,  that  while  the 
Monuments  and  works  of  Art  gain  in  wondrousness  and 
significance  by  familiarity  with  them,  the  actual  life  of 
Rome,  the  Papacy  and  its  pride,  lose  ;  and  though  one  gets 
accustomed  to  Cardinals  and  Friars  and  Swiss  guards,  and 
ragged  beggars  and  the  finery  of  London  and  Paris,  all 
rolling  on  together,  and  sees  how  it  is  that  they  subsist  in  a 
sort  of  spurious  unity,  one  loses  all  tendency  to  idealize  the 
Metropolis  and  System  of  the  Hierarchy  into  any  thing 
higher  than  a  piece  of  showy  stage-declamation,  at  bottom, 
in  our  day,  thoroughly  mean  and  prosaic.  My  other 
remark  is,  that  Rome,  seen  from  the  tower  of  the  Capitol, 
from  the  Pincian  or  the  Janiculum,  is  at  this  day  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  spectacles  which  eyes  ever  beheld.  The 
company  of  great  domes  rising  from  a  mass  of  large  and 
solid  buildings,  with  a  few  stone-pines  and  scattered  edifices 
on  the  outskirts ;  the  broken  bare  Campagna  all  around ; 
the  Alban  Hills  not  far,  and  the  purple  range  of  Sabine 
Mountains  in  the  distance  with  a  cope  of  snow  ; — this  seen 
in  the  clear  air,  and  the  whole  spiritualized  by  endless 
recollections,  and  a  sense  of  the  grave  and  lofty  reality  of 
human  existence  which  has  had  this  place  for  a  main 
theatre,  fills  at  once  the  eyes  and  heart  more  forcibly,  and 
to  me  delightfully,  than  I  can  find  words  to  say.' 


226  JOHN    STERLING. 

January  22d,  1839. — '  The  Modern  Rome,  Pope  and 
all  inclusive,  are  a  shabby  attempt  at  something  adequate 
to  fill  the  place  of  the  old  Commonwealth.  It  is  easy 
enough  to  live  among  them,  and  there  is  much  to  amuse 
and  even  interest  a  spectator ;  but  the  native  existence  of 
the  place  is  now  thin  and  hollow,  and  there  is  a  stamp  of 
littleness,  and  childish  poverty  of  taste,  upon  all  the  great 
Christian  buildings  I  have  seen  here, — not  excepting  St. 
Peter's  ;  which  is  crammed  with  bits  of  colored  marble  and 
gilding,  and  Gog-and-Magog  colossal  statues  of  saints  (look- 
ing prodigiously  small),  and  mosaics  from  the  worst  pic- 
tures in  Rome ;  and  has  altogether,  with  most  imposing 
size  and  lavish  splendor,  a  tang  of  Guildhall  finery  about  it 
that  contrasts  oddly  with  the  melancholy  vastness  and  sim- 
plicity of  the  Ancient  Monuments,  though  these  have  not 
the  Athenian  elegance.  I  recur  perpetually  to  the  galle- 
ries of  Sculpture  in  the  Vatican,  and  to  the  Frescoes  of 
Raffael  and  Michael  Angelo,  of  inexhaustible  beauty  and 
greatness,  and  the  general  aspect  of  the  City  and  the 
Country  round  it,  as  the  most  impressive  scene  on  earth. 
But  the  Modern  City,  with  its  churches,  palaces,  priests 
and  beggars,  is  far  from  sublime.' 

Of  about  the  same  date,  here  is  another  paragraph 
worth  inserting  :  '  Gladstone  has  three  little  agate  crosses 
which  he  will  give  you  for  my  little  girls.  Calvert  bought 
them,  as  a  present  for  "  the  bodies,"  at  Martigny  in  Swit- 
zerland, and  I  have  had  no  earlier  opportunity  of  sending 
them.  Will  you  despatch  them  to  Hastings  when  you 
have  an  opportunity  ?  I  have  not  yet  seen  Gladstone's 
Church  and  State  ;  but  as  there  is  a  copy  in  Rome,  I  hope 
soon  to  lay  hands  on  it.     I  saw  yesterday  in  the   Times  a 


ITALY.  227 

furious,  and  I  am  sorry  to  say,  most  absurd  attack  on  him 
and  it,  and  the  new  Oxonian  school.' 

.February   28t7i,   1839. — '  There   is  among  the  people 
plenty  of  squalid  misery ;  though  not  nearly  so  much  as, 
they  say,  exists  in  Ireland  ;   and  here  there  is  a  certain 
freedom   and  freshness  of  manners,  a  dash  of  Southern 
enjoyment  in  the  condition  of  the  meanest  and  most  miser- 
able.    There  is,  I  suppose,  as  little  as  well  can  be  of  con- 
science or  artificial  cultivation  of  any  kind  ;  but  there  is 
not  the  affectation  of  a  virtue  -which  they  do  not  possess, 
nor  any  feeling  of  being  despised  for  want  of  it ;  and  where 
life  generally  is  so  inert,  except  as  to  its  passions  and 
material  wants,  there   is  not  the   bitter   consciousness   of 
having  been  beaten  by  the  more  prosperous,  in  a  race 
which  the  greater  number  have  never  thought  of  running. 
Among   the  laboring  poor  of  Rome,  a  bribe  will  buy  a 
crime  ;   but  if  common  work  procures  enough  for  a  day's 
food  or  idleness,  ten  times  the  sum  will  not  induce  them  to 
toil  on,  as  an  English  workman  would,  for  the  sake  of  rising 
in  the  world.     Sixpence  any  day  will  put  any  of  them  at 
the  top  of  the  only  tree  they  care  for, — that  on  which 
grows  the  fruit  of  idleness.     It  is  striking  to  see  the  way  in 
which,  in  magnificent  churches,  the  most  ragged  beggars 
kneel  on  the  pavement  before  some  favorite  altar  in  the 
midst  of  well-dressed  women  and  of  gazing  foreigners.     Or 
sometimes  you  will  see  one  with  a  child  come  in  from  the 
street  where  she  has  been  begging, 'put  herself  in  a  corner, 
say  a  prayer  (probably  for  the  success  of  her  petitions), 
and  then  return  to  beg  again.     There  is  wonderfully  little 
of  any  moral  strength  connected  with  this  devotion  ;  but 
still  it  is  better  than  nothing,  and  more  than  is  often  found 


228  JOHN    STERLING. 

among  the  men  of  the  upper  classes  in  Rome.  I  believe 
the  Clergy  to  be  generally  profligate,  and  the  state  of 
domestic  morals  as  bad  as  it  has  ever  been  represented.' 

Or,  in  sudden  contrast,  take  this  other  glance  home- 
ward ;  a  Letter  to  his  eldest  child  ;  in  which  kind  of 
Letters,  more  than  in  any  other,  SterHng  seems  to  me  to 
excel.  Readers  recollect  the  hurricane  in  St.  Vincent ; 
the  hasty  removal  to  a  neighbor's  house,  and  the  birth  of  a 
son  there,  soon  after.  The  boy  has  grown  to  some  articu- 
lation, during  these  seven  years  ;  and  his  Father,  from  the 
new  foreign  scene  of  Priests  and  Dilettanti,  thus  addresses 
him: 

'  To  Master  Edward  C.  Sterling,  Hastings. 

'  Rome,  January  21st,  1839. 

'  My  dear  Edward, — I  was  very  glad  to  receive  your 
Letter,  which  shewed  me  that  you  have  1  earned  ething 
since  I  left  home.  If  you  knew  how  much  pleasure  it  gave 
me  to  see  your  handwriting,  I  am  sure  you  would  take 
pains  to  be  able  to  write  well,  that  you  might  often  send  me 
letters,  and  tell  me  a  great  many  things  which  I  should 
like  to  know  about  Mamma  and  your  Sisters  as  well  as 
yourself. 

'  If  I  go  to  Vesuvius,  I  will  try  to  carry  away  a  bit  of 
the  lava,  which  you  wish  for.  There  has  lately  been  a 
great  eruption,  as  it  is  called,  of  that  Mountain  ;  which 
means  a  great  breaking  out  of  hot  ashes  and  fire,  and  of 
melted  stones  which  is  called  lava. 

'  Miss  Clark  is  very  kind  to  take  so  much  pains  with 
you  ;  and  I  trust  you  will  shew  that  you  are  obliged  to  her, 
by  paying  attention  to  all  she  tells  you.     When  you  see 


ITALY.  229 

how  much  more  grown  people  know  than  you,  you  ought  to 
be  anxious  to  learn  all  you  can  from  those  who  teach  you  ; 
and  as  there  are  so  many  wise  and  good  things  written  in 
Books,  you  ought  to  try  to  read  early  and  carefully,  that 
you  may  learn  something  of  what  God  has  made  you  able 
to  know.  There  are  Libraries  containing  very  many 
thousands  of  Volumes ;  and  all  that  is  written  in  these  is, — 
accounts  of  some  part  or  other  of  the  World  which  God 
has  made,  or  of  the  Thoughts  which  he  has  enabled  men  to 
have  in  their  minds.  Some  Books  are  descriptions  of  the 
earth  itself,  with  its  rocks  and  ground  and  water,  and  of 
the  air  and  clouds,  and  the  stars  and  moon  and  sun,  which 
shine  so  beautifully  in  the  sky.  Some  tell  you  about  the 
things  that  grow  upon  the  ground ;  the  many  millions  of 
plants,  from  little  mosses  and  threads  of  grass  up  to  great 
trees  and  forests.  Some  also  contain  accounts  of  livinor 
things  ;  flies,  worms,  fishes,  birds  and  four-legged  beasts. 
And  some,  which  are  the  most,  are  about  men  and  their 
thoughts  and  doings.  These  are  the  most  important  of  all ; 
for  men  are  the  best  and  most  wonderful  creatures  of  God 
in  the  world  ;  being  the  only  ones  able  to  know  him  and 
love  him,  and  to  try  of  their  own  accord  to  do  his  will. 

'  These  Books  about  men  are  also  the  most  important  to 
us,  because  we  ourselves  are  hunoan  beings,  and  may  learn 
from  such  Books  Avhat  we  ought  to  think  and  to  do  and  to 
try  to  be.  Some  of  them  describe  what  sort  of  people 
have  lived  in  old  times  and  in  other  countries.  By  reading 
them,  we  know  what  is  the  difiference  between  ourselves  in 
England  now,  and  the  famous  Nations  which  lived  in 
former  days.  Such  were  the  Egyptians  who  built  the 
Pyramids,  which  are  the  greatest  heaps  of  stone  upon  the 
20 


230  JOHN    STERLING. 

face  of  the  earth:  and  the  Babylonians,  who  had  a  city 
with  huge  walls,  built  of  bricks,  having  writing  on  them 
that  no  one  in  our  time  has  been  able  to  make  out.  There 
were  also  the  Jews,  who  were  the  only  ancient  people  that 
knew  how  wonderful  and  how  good  God  is :  and  the 
Greeks,  who  were  the  wisest  of  all  in  thinking  about  men's 
lives  and  hearts,  and  who  knew  best  how  to  make  fine 
statues  and  buildings,  and  to  write  wise  books.  By  Books 
also  we  may  learn  what  sort  of  people  the  old  Eomans 
were,  whose  chief  city  was  Rome,  where  I  am  now  ;  and 
how  brave  and  skillful  they  were  in  war ;  and  how  well 
they  could  govern  and  teach  many  nations  which  they  had 
conquered.  It  is  from  Books,  too,  that  you  must  learn 
what  kind  of  men  were  our  Ancestors  in  the  Northern 
part  of  Europe,  who  belonged  to  the  tribes  that  did  the 
most  towards  pulling  down  the  power  of  the  Romans  :  and 
you  will  see  in  the  same  way  how  Christianity  was  sent 
among  them  by  God,  to  make  them  wiser  and  more  peace- 
ful, and  more  noble  in  their  minds  ;  and  how  all  the  nations 
that  now  are  in  Europe,  and  especially  the  Italians  and  the 
Germans,  and  the  French  and  the  English,  came  to  be 
what  they  now  are. — It  is  well  worth  knowing  (and  it  can 
be  known  only  by  reading)  how  the  Germans  found  out  the 
Printing  of  Books,  and  what  great  changes  this  has  made 
in  the  world.  And  everybody  in  England  ought  to  try  to 
understand  how  the  English  came  to  have  their  Parlia- 
ments and  Laws ;  and  to  have  fleets  that  sail  over  all  seas 
of  the  world. 

'  Besides  learning  all  these  things,  and  a  great  many 
more  about  different  times  and  countries,  you  may  learn 
from  Books,  what  is  the  truth  of  God's  will,  and  what  are 


ITALY.  231 

the  best  and  ■wisest  thoughts,  and  the  most  beautiful  words  ; 
and  how  men  are  able  to  lead  very  right  lives,  and  to  do  a 
great  deal  to  better  the  world.  I  have  spent  a  great  part 
of  my  life  in  reading  ;  and  I  hope  you  will  come  to  like  it 
as  much  as  I  do,  and  to  learn  in  this  way  all  that  I  know. 

'  But  it  is  a  still  more  serious  matter  that  you  should  try 
to  be  obedient  and  gentle  ;  and  to  command  your  temper  ; 
and  to  think  of  other  people's  pleasure  rather  than  your 
own,  and  of  what  you  ought  to  do  rather  than  what  you 
like.  If  you  try  to  be  better  for  all  you  read,  as  well  as 
wiser,  you  will  find  Books  a  great  help  towards  goodness  as 
well  as  knowledge, — and  above  all  other  Books,  the  Bible  ; 
which  tells  us  of  the  will  of  God,  and  of  the  love  of  Jesus 
Christ  towards  God  and  men. 

'  I  had  a  Letter  from  Mamma  to-day,  which  left  Hast- 
ings on  the  10th  of  this  month.  I  was  very  glad  to  find  in 
it  that  you  were  all  well  and  happy :  but  I  know  Mamma  is 
not  well, — and  is  likely  to  be  more  uncomfortable  every 
day  for  some  time.  So  I  hope  you  will  all  take  care  to 
give  her  as  little  trouble  as  possible.  After  sending  you  so 
much  advice,  I  shall  write  a  little  Story  to  divert  you. — 
I  am,  my  dear  Boy, — 

'  Your  afiectionate  Father, 

'  John  Sterling.' 

The  '  Story  '  is  lost,  destroyed,  as  are  many  such  which 
Sterling  wrote,  with  great  felicity,  I  am  told,  and  much  to 
the  satisfaction  of  the  young  folk,  when  the  humor  took 
him. 

Besides  these  plentiful  communications  still  left,  I  re- 


232  JOHN    STERLING. 

member  long  Letters,  not  now  extant,  principally  addressed 
to  his  Wife,  of  which  we  and  the  circle  at  Knightsbridge 
had  due  perusal,  treating  Avith  animated  copiousness  about 
all  manner  of  picture-galleries,  pictures,  statues  and  objects 
of  Art  at  Rome,  and  on  the  road  to  Rome  and  from  it, 
wheresoever  his  course  led  him  into  neighborhood  of  such 
objects.  That  was  Sterling's  habit.  It  is  expected  in  this 
Nineteenth  Century  that  a  man  of  culture  shall  understand 
and  worship  Art :  among  the  windy  gospels  addressed  to 
our  poor  Century  there  are  few  louder  than  this  of  Art ; — 
and  if  the  Century  expects  that  every  man  shall  do  his 
duty,  surely  Sterling  was  not  the  man  to  balk  it !  Various 
extracts  from  these  picture-surveys  are  given  in  Hare  ;  the 
others,  I  suppose.  Sterling  himself  subsequently  destroyed, 
not  valuini];  them  much. 

Certainly  no  stranger  could  address  himself  more  eagerly 
to  reap  what  artistic  harvest  Rome  ojffers,  which  is  reck- 
oned the  peculiar  produce  of  Rome  among  cities  under  the 
sun  ;  to  all  galleries,  churches,  sistine  chapels,  ruins,  coli- 
seums, and  artistic  or  dilettante  shrines  he  zealously  pil- 
grimed ;  and  had  much  to  say  then  and  afterwards,  and 
with  real  technical  and  historical  knowledge  I  believe, 
about  the  objects  of  devotion  there.  But  it  often  struck 
me  as  a  question,  Whether  all  this  even  to  himself  was  not, 
more  or  less,  a  nebulous  kind  of  element ;  prescribed  not 
by  Nature  and  her  verities,  but  by  the  Century  expecting 
every  man  to  do  his  duty  ?  Whether  not  perhaps,  in  good 
part,  temporary  dilettante  cloudland  of  our  poor  Century  ; 
— or  can  it  be  the  real  diviner  Pisgah  height,  and  ever- 
lasting mount  of  vision,  for  man's  soul  in  any  Century  ? 
And  I  think  Sterhng  himself  bent  towards  a  negative  con- 


ITALY. 


233 


elusion,  in  the  course  of  years.  Certainly,  of  all  subjects 
this  was  the  one  I  cared  least  to  hear  even  Sterling  talk 
of:  indeed  it  is  a  subject  on  which  earnest  men,  abhorrent 
of  hypocrisy  and  speech  that  has  no  meaning,  are  admon- 
ished to  silence  in  this  sad  time,  and  had  better,  in  such  a 
Babel  as  we  have  got  into  for  the  present,  '  perambulate 
their  picture-gallery  with  httle  or  no  speech.' 

Here  is  another  and  to  me  much  more  earnest  kind  of 
*  Art,'  which  renders  Rome  unique  among  the  cities  of  the 
world  ;  of  this  we  will,  in  preference,  take  a  glance  through 
Sterling's  eyes : 

January  22d,  1839. — '  On  Friday  last  there  was  a  great 
Festival  at  St.  Peter's  ;  the  only  one  I  have  seen.  The 
church  was  decorated  with  crimson  hangings,  and  the  choir 
fitted  up  with  seats  and  galleries,  and  a  throne  for  the 
Pope.  There  were  perhaps  a  couple  of  hundred  guards 
of  different  kinds ;  and  three  or  four  hundred  English 
ladies,  and  not  so  many  foreign  male  spectators ;  so  that 
the  place  looked  empty.  The  Cardinals  in  scarlet,  and 
Monsignori  in  purple,  were  there  ;  and  a  body  of  officating 
Clergy.  The  Pope  was  carried-in  in  his  chair  on  men's 
shoulders,  wearing  the  Triple  Crown  ;  which  I  have  thus 
actually  seen :  it  is  something  like  a  gigantic  Egg,  and  of 
the  same  color,  with  three  little  bands  of  gold, — very  large 
Egg  shell  with  three  streaks  of  the  yolk  smeared  round  it. 
He  was  dressed  in  white  silk  robes,  with  gold  trimmings. 

'  It  was  a  fine  piece  of  state-show  ;  though,  as  there  are 
three  or  four  such  Festivals  yearly,  of  course  there  is  none 
of  the  eager  interest  which  broke  out  at  coronations  and 
similar  rare  events ;  no  explosion  of  unwonted  velvets, 
jewels,  carriages,  and  footmen,  such  as  London  and  Milan 
20* 


23-1  JOHN    STERLING. 

have  lately  enjoj^ed.  I  guessed  all  the  people  in  St. 
Peter's,  including  performers  and  spectators,  at  2000 ; 
where  20,000  would  hardly  have  been  a  crushing*  crowd. 
Mass  was  performed,  and  a  stupid  but  short  Latin  sermon 
delivered  by  a  lad,  in  honor  of  St.  Peter,  who  would  have 
been  much  astonished  if  he  could  have  heard  it.  The 
genuflexions,  and  trainbearings,  and  folding-up  the  tails  of 
silk  petticoats  while  the  Pontilf  knelt,  and  the  train  of  Car- 
dinals going  up  to  kiss  his  Ring,  and  so  forth, — made  on 
me  the  impression  of  something  immeasurably  old  and 
sepulchral,  such  as  might  suit  the  Grand  Lama's  court,  or 
the  inside  of  an  Egyptian  Pyramid  ;  or  as  if  the  Hiero- 
glyphics on  one  of  the  Obelisks  here  should  begin  to  pace 
and  gesticulate,  and  nod  their  bestial  heads  upon  the  gran- 
ite tablets.  The  careless  bystanders,  the  London  ladies 
with  their  eye-glasses  and  look  of  an  Opera-box,  the  yawn- 
ing young  gentlemen  of  the  Giiarda  Nohile,  and  the  laugh 
of  one  of  the  file  of  vermillion  Priests  round  the  steps  of 
the  altar  at  the  whispered  good  thing  of  his  neighbor, 
brought  one  back  to  nothing  indeed  of  a  very  lofty  kind, 
but  still  to  the  Nineteenth  Century.' — 

'  At  the  great  Benediction  of  the  City  and  the  World  on 
Easter  Sunday  by  the  Pope,'  he  writes  afterwards,  '  there 
was  a  large  crowd  both  native  and  foreign,  hundreds  of 
carriages,  and  thousands  of  the  lower  orders  of  people  from 
the  country  ;  but  even  of  the  poor  hardly  one  in  twenty 
took  off  his  hat,  and  a  still  smaller  number  knelt  down.  A 
few  years  ago,  not  a  head  was  covered,  nor  was  there  a 
knee  which  did  not  bow.' — A  very  decadent  "  Holiness  of 
our  Lord  the  Pope,"  it  would  appear  ! — 

Sterling's  view  of  the  Pope,  as  seen  in  these  his  gala 


ITALY.  235 

days,  doing  his  big  playactorism  under  God's  earnest  sky, 
was  much  more  substantial  to  me  than  his  studies  in  the 
picture-galleries.  To  Mr.  Hare  also  he  -writes :  '  I  have 
seen  the  Pope  in  all  his  pomp  at  St.  Peter's  ;  and  he  looked 
to  me  a  mere  lie  in  hvery.  The  Romish  Controversy  is 
doubtless  a  much  more  difficult  one  than  the  managers  of 
the  Religious-Tract  Society  fancy,  because  it  is  a  theoreti- 
cal dispute  ;  and  in  dealing  -with  notions  and  authorities,  I 
can  quite  understand  how  a  mere  student  in  a  library,  with 
no  eye  for  facts,  should  take  either  one  side  or  other.  But 
how  any  man  with  clear  head  and  honest  heart,  and  capa- 
ble of  seeing  realities,  and  distinguishing  them  from  scenic 
falsehoods,  should,  after  living  in  a  Romanist  country,  and 
especially  at  Rome,  be  inclined  to  side  with  Leo  against 
Luther,  I  cannot  understand.'* 

It  is  fit  surely  to  recognize  with  admiring  joy  any 
ghmpse  of  the  Beautiful  and  the  Eternal  that  is  hung  out 
for  us,  in  color,  in  form  or  tone,  in  canvass,  stone,  or 
atmospheric  air,  and  made  accessible  by  any  sense,  in  this 
world  :  but  it  is  greatly  fitter  still  (little  as  we  are  used 
that  way)  to  shudder  in  pity  and  abhorrence  over  the 
scandalous  tragedy,  transcendent  nadir  of  human  ugliness 
and  contemptibility,  which  under  the  daring  title  of  relig- 
ious worship,  and  practical  recognition  of  the  Highest  God, 
daily  and  hourly  everywhere  transacts  itself  there.  And, 
alas,  not  there  only,  but  elsewhere,  everywhere  more  or 
less  ;  whereby  our  sense  is  so  blunted  to  it ; — whence,  in 
all  provinces  of  human  life,  these  tears  ! — 

But  let  us  take  a  glance  at  the  Carnival,  since  we  are 


*  Hare,  p.  cxviii. 


236  JOHN    STERLING. 

here.     The  Letters,  as  before,  are  addressed  to  Knights- 
bridge  ;  the  date  Rome  : 

Felruary  6t7i,  1839. — '  The  Carnival  began  yesterday. 
It  is  a  curious  example  of  the  trifling  things  which  -will 
heartily  amuse  tens  of  thousands  of  grown  people,  precisely 
because  they  are  trifling,  and  therefore  a  relief  from  serious 
business,  cares  and  labors.  The  Corso  is  a  street  about  a 
mile  long,  and  about  as  broad  as  Jermyn  Street ;  but  bor- 
dered by  much  loftier  houses,  Vvith  many  palaces  and 
churches,  and  has  two  or  three  small  squares  opening  into 
it.  Carriages,  mostly  open,  drove  up  and  down  it  for  two 
or  three  hours ;  and  the  contents  were  shot  at  with  hand- 
fuls  of  comfits  from  the  window, — in  the  hope  of  making 
them  as  non-content  as  possible, — while  they  returned  the 
fire  to  the  best  of  their  inferior  ability.  The  populace, 
among  whom  was  I,  walked  about ;  perhaps  one  in  fifty  were 
masked  in  character  ;  but  there  was  little  in  the  masque- 
rade either  of  splendor  of  costume  or  liveliness  of  mimicry. 
However,  the  whole  scene  was  very  gay:  there  were  a 
good  many  troops  about,  and  some  of  them  heavy  dragoons, 
who  flourished  their  swords  with  the  magnanimity  of  our 
Life-Guards,  to  repel  the  encroachments  of  too  ambitious 
little  boys.  Most  of  the  windows  and  balconies  were  hung 
with  colored  drapery ;  and  there  were  flags,  trumpets, 
nosegays  and  flirtations  of  all  shapes  and  sizes.  The  best 
of  all  was,  that  there  was  laughter  enough  to  have  fright- 
ened Cassius  out  of  his  thin  carcass,  could  the  lean  old 
homicide  have  been  present,  otherwise  than  as  a  fleshless 
ghost ; — in  which  capacity  I  thought  I  had  a  glimpse  of 
him  looking  over  the  shoulder  of  a  parti-colored  clown,  in  a 
carriage    full   of  London   Cockneys   driving   towards    the 


ITALY.  237 

Capitol.  This  good-huraored  foolery  will  go  on  for  several 
days  to  come,  ending  always  with  the  celebrated  Horse- 
race, of  horses  without  riders.  The  long  street  is  cleared 
in  the  centre  by  troops,  and  half-a-dozen  quadrupeds,  orna- 
mented like  Grimaldi  in  a  London  pantomime,  scamper 
away,  with  the  mob  closing  and  roaring  at  their  heels.' 

February  Wi^  1839. — '  The  usual  state  of  Rome  is  quiet 
and  sober.  One  could  almost  fancy  the  actual  generation 
held  their  breath,  and  stole  by  on  tiptoe,  in  presence  of  so 
memorable  a  past.  Bat  during  the  Carnival  all  mankind, 
womankind  and  childkind  think  it  unbecoming  not  to  play 
the  fool.  The  modern  donkey  pokes  its  head  out  of  the 
lion's  skin  of  old  Rome,  and  brays  out  the  absurdest  of 
asinine  roundelays.  Conceive  twenty  thousand  grown  peo- 
ple in  a  long  street,  at  the  windows,  on  the  footways  and  in 
carriages,  amused  day  after  day  for  several  hours  in  pelting 
and  being  pelted  with  handfuls  of  mock  or  real  sugar-plums  ; 
and  this  no  name  or  pretence,  but  real  downright  showers 
of  plaster  comfits,  from  which  people  guard  their  eyes  with 
meshes  of  wire.  As  sure  as  a  carriage  passes  under  a  win- 
dow or  balcony  where  are  acquaintances  of  theirs,  down 
comes  a  shower  of  hail,  ineffectually  returned  from  below. 
The  parties  in  two  crossing  carriages  similarly  assault  each 
other  ;  and  there  are  long  balconies  hung  the  whole  way 
with  a  deep  canvass  pocket  full  of  this  mortal  shot.  One 
Russian  Grand  Duke  goes  with  a  troop  of  youngsters  in  a 
wagon,  all  dressed  in  brown  linen  frocks  and  masked,  and 
pelts  among  the  most  furious,  also  being  pelted.  The 
children  are  of  course  pre-eminently  vigorous,  and  there  is 
a  considerable  circulation  of  real  sugar-plums,  which  supply 
consolation  for  all  disappointments.' 


238  JOHN    STERLING. 

The  -whole  to  conclude,  as  is  proper,  with  a  display,  with 
two  displays,  of  fire-works  ;  in  which  art,  as  in  some  others, 
Rome  is  unrivaled : 

February  9th,  1839. — '  It  seems  to  be  the  ambition  of 
all  the  lower  classes  to  wear  a  mask  and  showy  grotesque 
disguise  of  some  kind  ;  and  I  believe  many  of  the  upper 
ranks  do  the  same.  They  even  put  St.  Peter's  into  mas- 
querade ;  and  make  it  a  Cathedral  of  Lamplight  instead  of 
a  stone  one.  Two  evenings  ago  this  feat  was  performed  ; 
and  I  was  able  to  see  it  from  the  rooms  of  a  friend  near 
this,  which  command  an  excellent  view  of  it.  I  never  saw 
so  beautiful  an  effect  of  artificial  light.  The  evening  was 
perfectly  serene  and  clear ;  the  principal  lines  of  the  build- 
ing, the  columns,  architrave  and  pediment  of  the  front,  the 
two  inferior  cupolas,  the  curves  of  the  dome  from  which  the 
dome  rises,  the  ribs  of  the  dome  itself,  the  small  oriel  win- 
dows between  them,  and  the  lantern  and  ball  and  cross, — 
all  were  delineated  in  the  clear  vault  of  air  by  lines  of  pale 
yellow  fire.  The  dome  of  another  great  Church,  much 
nearer  to  the  eye,  stood  up  as  a  great  black  mass, — a  fune- 
real contrast  to  the  luminous  tabernacle. 

'  While  I  was  looking  at  this  latter,  a  red  blaze  burst 
from  the  summit,  and  at  the  same  moment  seemed  to  flash 
over  the  whole  building,  filling  up  the  pale  outline  with  a 
simultaneous  burst  of  fire.  This  is  a  celebrated  display  ; 
and  is  done,  I  believe,  by  the  employment  of  a  very  great 
number  of  men  to  light,  at  the  same  instant,  the  torches 
which  are  fixed  for  the  purpose  all  over  the  building. 
After  the  first  glare  of  fire,  I  did  not  think  the  second 
aspect  of  the  building  so  beautiful  as  the  first ;  it  wanted 


ITALY.  ~  239 

both  softness  and  distinctness.  The  two  most  animated 
dajs  of  the  Carnival  are  still  to  come.' 

Ajjril  Ath,  1839. — '  We  have  just  come  to  the  termina- 
tion of  all  the  Easter  spectacles  here.  On  Sunday  evening 
St.  Peter's  was  a  second  time  illuminated ;  I  was  in  the 
Piazza,  and  admired  the  sight  from  a  nearer  point  than 
when  I  had  seen  it  before  at  the  time  of  the  Carnival. 

'  On  Monday  evening  the  celebrated  fire-works  were  let 
off  from  the  Castle  of  St.  Angelo ;  they  were  said  to  be,  in 
some  respects,  more  brilliant  than  usual.  I  certainly  never 
saw  any  fire-works  comparable  to  them  for  beauty.  The 
Girandola  is  a  discharge  of  many  thousands  of  rockets  at 
once,  which  of  course  fall  back,  like  the  leaves  of  a  lily, 
and  form  for  a  minute  a  very  beautiful  picture.  There 
was  also  in  silvery  light  a  very  long  Facade  of  a  Palace, 
which  looked  a  residence  for  Oberon  and  Titania,  and  beat 
xVladdin's  into  darkness.  Afterwards  a  series  of  cascades 
of  red  fire  poured  down  the  faces  of  the  Castle  and  of  the 
scaffoldings  round  it,  and  seemed  a  burning  Niagara.  Of 
course  there  were  abundance  of  serpents,  wheels  and  can- 
non-shot ;  there  was  also  a  display  of  dazzling  white  light, 
which  made  a  strange  appearance  on  the  houses,  the  river, 
the  bridge,  and  the  faces  of  the  multitude.  The  whole 
ended  with  a  second  and  a  more  splendid  Girandola.' 

Take  finally,  to  people  the  scene  a  little  for  us,  if  our 
imagination  be  at  all  lively,  these  three  small  entries,  of 
different  dates  ;  and  so  wind  up  : 

December  ZOth,  1838. — '  I  received  on  Christmas-day  a 
packet  from  Dr.  Carlyle,  containing  Letters  from  the  Mau- 
rices ;  which  were  a  very  pleasant  arrival.     The  Dr.  wrote 


240  JOHN    STERLING. 

a  few  lines  with  them,  mentioning  that  he  was  only  at 
Civita  Vecchia  while  the  steamer  baited  on  its  way  to 
Naples.     I  have  written  to  thank  him  for  his  despatches.' 

March  IQth,  1839. — '  I  have  seen  a  good  deal  of  John 
Mill,  whose  society  I  like  much.  He  enters  heartily  into 
the  interest  of  the  things  which  I  most  care  for  here,  and  I 
have  seldom  had  more  pleasure  than  in  taking  him  to  see 
Raffael's  Loggie,  where  are  the  Frescoes  called  his  Bible, 
and  to  the  Sixtine  Chapel,  which  I  admire  and  love  more 
and  more.  He  is  in  very  weak  health,  but  as  fresh  and 
clear  in  mind  as  possible.'  *  *  *  '  English  politics  seem  in 
a  queer  state,  the  Conservatives  creep  on,  the  Whigs  losing 
ground  ;  like  combatants  on  the  top  of  a  breach,  while  there 
is  a  social  mine  below  which  will  probably  blow  both  parties 
into  the  air.' 

April  ith,  1839. — '  I  walked  out  on  Tuesday  on  the 
Ancona  Road,  and  about  noon  met  a  traveling  carriage, 
which  from  a  distance  looked  very  suspicious,  and  on 
nearer  approach  was  found  really  to  contain  Captain  Ster- 
ling and  an  Albanian  man-servant  on  the  front,  and  behind 
under  the  hood  Mrs.  A.  Sterling  and  the  she  portion  of  the 
tail.  They  seemed  very  well ;  and,  having  turned  the 
Albanian  back  to  the  rear  of  the  whole  machine,  I  sat  by 
Anthony,  and  entered  Rome  in  triumph.' — Here  is  indeed 
a  conquest !  Captain  A.  Sterling,  now  on  his  return  from 
service  in  Corfu,  meets  his  Brother  in  this  manner ;  and 
the  remaining  Roman  days  are  of  a  brighter  complexion. 
As  these  suddenly  ended,  I  believe  he  turned  southward, 
and  found  at  Naples  the  Dr.  Carlyle  above  mentioned  (an 
extremely  intimate  acquaintance  of  mine),  who  was  still 
there.     For  we  are  a  most  traveling  people,  we  of  this 


ITALY.  ^  241 

Island  in  this  time ;   and,  as  the  Prophet  threatened,  see 
ourselves,  in  so  many  senses,  made  '  like  unto  a  wheel ! ' 

Sterling  returned  from  Italy  filled  with  much  cheerful 
imagery  and  reminiscence,  and  great  store  of  artistic,  seri- 
ous, dilettant  and  other  speculation  for  the  time  ;  improved 
in  health,  too  ;  but  probably  little  enriched  in  real  culture 
or  spiritual  strength  ;  and  indeed  not  permanently  altered 
by  his  tour  in  any  respect  to  a  sensible  extent,  that  one 
could  notice.  He  returned  rather  in  haste,  and  before  the 
expected  time  ;  summoned,  about  the  middle  of  April,  by 
his  Wife's  domestic  situation  at  Hastings  ;  who,  poor  lady, 
had  been  brought  to  bed  before  her  calculation,  and  had  in 
few  days  lost  her  infant ;  and  now  saw  a  household  round 
her  much  needing  the  master's  presence.  He  hurried  otf 
to  Malta,  dreading  the  Alps  at  that  season ;  and  came 
home,  by  steamer,  with  all  speed,  early  in  May  1839. 


21 


242  JOHN    STERLING. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 


CLIFTON. 


Matters  once  readjusted  at  Hastings,  it  was  thought  Ster- 
ling's health  had  so  improved,  and  his  activities  towards 
Literature  so  developed  themselves  into  congruity,  that  a 
permanent  English  place  of  abode  might  now  again  be 
selected, — on  the  South-west  coast  somewhere, — and  the 
family  once  more  have  the  blessing  of  a  home,  and  see  its 
lares  and  penates  and  household  furniture  unlocked  from 
the  Pantechnicon  repositories,  where  they  had  so  long  been 

Clifton,  by  Bristol,  with  its  soft  Southern  winds  and  high 
cheerful  situation,  recommended  too  by  the  presence  of  one 
or  more  valuable  acquaintances  there,  was  found  to  be  the 
eligible  place  ;  and  thither  in  this  summer  of  1839,  having 
found  a  tolerable  lodging,  with  the  prospect  by  and  by  of 
an  agreeable  house,  he  and  his  removed.  This  was  the 
end  of  what  I  call  his  '  third  peregrinity  ; ' — or  reckoning 
the  West  Indies  one,  his  fourth.  This  also  is,  since  Bays- 
water,  the  fourth  time  his  family  has  had  to  shift  on  his 
account.  Bayswater  ;  then  to  Bordeaux,  to  Blackheath 
and  Knightsbridge  (during  the  Madeira  time),  to  Hastings 
(Roman  time)  ;  and  now  to  Clifton,  not  to  stay  there 
either  :  a  sadly  nomadic  life  to  be  prescribed  to  a  civilized 
man  ! 

At  Clifton  his  habitation  was  speedily  enough  set  up ; 


CLIFTON.  243 

household  conveniences,  methods  of  work,  daily  promenades 
on  foot  or  horseback,  and  before  long  even  a  circle  of 
friends,  or  of  kindly  neighborhoods  ripening  into  intimacy, 
were  established  round  him.  In  all  this  no  man  could  be 
more  expert  or  expeditious,  in  such  cases.  It  was  with 
singular  facility,  in  a  loving,  hoping  manner,  that  he  threw 
himself  open  to  the  new  interests  and  capabilities  of  the 
new  place  ;  snatched  out  of  it  whatsoever  of  human  or 
material  would  suit  him ;  and  in  brief,  in  all  senses  had 
pitched  his  tent  habitation,  and  grew  to  look  on  it  as  a 
house.  It  was  beautiful  too,  as  well  as  pathetic.  This 
man  saw  himself  reduced  to  be  a  dweller  in  tents,  his  house 
is  but  a  stone  tent ;  and  he  can  so  kindly  accommodate 
himself  to  that  arrangenient ; — healthy  faculty  and  diseased 
necessity,  nature  and  habit,  and  all  manner  of  things  pri- 
mary and  secondary,  original  and  incidental,  conspiring 
now  to  make  it  easy  for  him.  With  the  evils  of  nomadism, 
he  participated  to  the  full  in  whatever  benefits  lie  in  it  for 
a  man. 

He  had  friends  enough,  old  and  new,  at  Clifton,  whose 
intercourse  made  the  place  human  for  him.  Perhaps 
among  the  most  valued  of  the  former  sort  may  be  men- 
tioned Mrs.  Edward  Strachey,  Widow  of  the  late  Indian 
Judge,  who  now  resided  here  ;  a  cultivated,  graceful,  most 
devout  and  highminded  lady  ;  whom  he  had  known  in  old 
years,  first  probably  as  Charles  Buller's  Aunt,  and  whose 
esteem  was  constant  for  him,  and  always  precious  to  him. 
She  was  some  ten  or  twelve  years  older  than  he  ;  she  sur; 
vived  him  some  years,  but  is  now  also  gone  from  us.  Of 
new  friends  acquired  here,  besides  a  skillful  and  ingenious 
Dr.   Simmons,  physician  as  well  as  friend,  the  principal 


244  JOHN    STERLING. 

was  Francis  Newman,  then  and  still  an  ardently  inquiring 
soul,  of  fine  University  and  other  attainments,  of  sharp- 
cutting  restlessly  advancing  intellect,  and  the  mildest  pious 
enthusiasni ;  whose  worth,  since  better  known  to  all  the 
world.  Sterling  highly  estimated ; — and  indeed  practically 
testified  the  same  ;  having  by  will  appointed  him,  some 
years  hence,  guardian  to  his  eldest  Son  ;  which  pious  func- 
tion Mr.  Newman  now  successfully  discharges. 

Sterling  was  not  long  in  certainty  as  to  his  abode  at 
Clifton  :  alas,  Avhere  could  he  long  be  so  ?  Hardly  six 
months  were  gone  when  his  old  enemy  again  overtook  him ; 
again  admonished  him  how  frail  his  hopes  of  permanency 
were.  Each  winter,  it  turned  out,  he  had  to  fly  ;  and  after 
the  second  of  these,  he  quitted  the  place  altogether. 
Here,  meanwhile,  in  a  Letter  to  myself,  and  in  Excerpts 
from  others,  are  some  glimpses  of  his  advent  and  first 
summer  there  ; 

Clifton,  June  llth,  1839  {To  his  Mother^.—'  As  yet  I 
am  personally  very  uncomfortable  from  the  general  confu- 
sion of  this  house,  which  deprives  me  of  my  room  to  sit  and 
read  and  write  in ;  all  being  more  or  less  lumbered  by 
boxes,  and  invaded  by  servile  domesticities  aproned,  han- 
dled, bristled,  and  of  nondescript  varieties.  We  have  very 
fine  warm  weather,  with  occasional  showers ;  and  the  ver- 
dure of  the  woods  and  fields  is  very  beautiful.  Bristol 
seems  as  busy  as  need  be ;  and  the  shops  and  all  kinds  of 
practical  conveniences  are  excellent ;  but  those  of  Clifton 
have  the  usual  sentimental,  not  to  say  meretricious  fraudu- 
lence  of  commercial  establishments  in  Watering-places. 

'  The  bag  which  Hannah  forgot  reached  us  safely  at 


CLIFTON.  246 

Bath  on  Friday  morning  ;  but  I  cannot  quite  unriddle  the 
mystery  of  the  change  of  padlocks,  for  I  left  the  right  one 
in  care  of  the  Head  Steam-engine  at  Paddington,  which 
seemed  a  very  decent  person  with  a  good  black  coat  on, 
and  a  pen  behind  its  ear.  I  have  been  meditating  much 
on  the  story  of  Palarea's  "  box  of  papers  ;"  which  does  not 
appear  to  be  in  my  possession,  and  I  have  a  strong  impres- 
sion that  I  gave  it  to  young  Florez  Calderon.  I  will  Avrite 
to  say  so  to  Madame  Torrijos  speedily.' — Palarea,  Dr.  Pa- 
larea,  I  understand,  was  '  an  old  guerilla  leader  whom  they 
called  El  Medico.^  Of  him  and  of  the  vanished  shadows, 
now  gone  to  Paris,  to  Madrid,  or  out  of  the  world,  let  us 
say  nothing ! 

June  15/A,  1839  (^To  myself). — '  We  have  a  room  now 
occupied  by  Robert  Barton,'  a  brother-in-law ;  '  to  which 
Anthony  may  perhaps  succeed  ;  but  which  after  him,  or  in 
lieu  of  him,  would  expand  itself  to  receive  you.  Is  there 
no  hope  of  your  coming  ?  I  would  undertake  to  ride  with 
you  at  all  possible  paces,  and  in  all  existing  directions. 

'  As  yet  my  books  are  lying  as  ghost  books,  in  a  limbo 
on  the  banks  of  a  certain  Bristolian  Styx,  humanly  speak- 
ing, a  Canal ;  but  the  other  apparatus  of  life  is  gathered 
about  me,  and  performs  its  diurnal  functions.  The  place 
pleases  me  better  than  I  expected  :  A  far  look-out  on  all 
sides,  over  green  country ;  a  sufficient  old  City  lying  in 
the  hollow  near ;  and  civilization,  in  no  tumultuous  state, 
rather  indeed  stagnant,  visible  in  the  Rows  of  Houses  and 
Gardens  which  call  themselves  Clifton.  I  hope  soon  to 
take  a  lease  of  a  house,  where  I  may  arrange  myself  more 
methodically ;  keep  myself  equably  boiling  in  my  own 
kitchen  ;  and  spread  myself  over  a  series  of  book-shelves.' 


246  JOHN    STERLING. 

— '  I  have  just  been  interrupted  by  a  visit  from  Mrs. 
Strachej  ;  with  whom  I  dined  yesterday.  She  seems  a 
very  good  and  thorouglily  kind-hearted  woman ;  and  it  is 
pleasant  to  have  her  for  a  neighbor.' — '  I  have  read  Em- 
erson's Pamphlets.  I  should  find  it  more  difficult  than 
ever  to  write  to  him.' 

June  SOth,  1839  (To  Ms  Father).—''  Of  Books  I  shall 
have  no  lack,  though  no  plethora ;  and  the  Reading-room 
supplies  all  one  can  want  in  the  way  of  Papers  and  Re- 
views.    I  go  there  three  or  four  times  a  week,  and  inquire 
how  the  human  race  goes  on.     I  suppose  this  Turco-Egyp- 
tian  War  will  throw  several  diplomatists  into  a  state  of  great 
excitement,  and  massacre  a  good  many  thousands  of  Afri- 
cans and  Asiatics  ? — for  the  present,  it  appears,  the  English 
Education  Question  is  settled.     I  wish  the  Government  had 
said  that,  in  their  inspection  and  superintendence,  they 
would  look  only  to  secular  matters,  and  leave  religious  ones 
to  the  persons  who  set  up  the  schools,  whoever  these  might 
be.     It  seems  to  me  monstrous  that  the  State  should  be 
prevented  taking  any  efficient  measures  for  teaching  Roman 
Catholic  children  to   read,  write  and  cypher,  merely  be- 
cause they  believe  in  the  Pope,  and  the  Pope  is  an  impos- 
tor,— which  I  candidly  confess  he  is  !     There  is  no  question 
which  I  can  so  ill  endure  to  see  made  a  party  one  as  that 
of  Education.' — The  following  is  of  the  same  day  : 

'  To  Thomas  Carlyle,  Esq.,  Chelsea,  Lo7idon. 

'  Manor  House,  Clifton  Place,  Clifton, 
'  June  30th,  1839. 

'  My  dear    Carlyle, — I  have  heard,  this  morning, 
rem  my  Father,  that  you  *are  to  set  out  on  Tuesday  fo/ 


CLIFTON.  247 

Scotland  :  so  I  have  determined  to  fillip  away  some  spurt 
of  ink  in  your  direction,  -which  may  reach  you  before  you 
move  towards  Thule. 

'  Writing  to  you,  in  fact,   is   considerably   easier  than 
writing   about  you;    which  has  been  my  employment  of 
late,  at  leisure  moments, — that  is,  moments  of  leisure  from 
idleness,  not  work.     As  you  partly  guessed,  I  took  in  hand 
a  Review  of  Teufelsdruckh — for  want  of  a  better  Heusch- 
recke  to  do  the  work  ;  and  when  I  have  been  well  enough, 
and   alert    enough,  during  the    last  fortnight,  have  tried 
to   set   down   some   notions   about    Tobacco,   Radicahsm, 
Christianity,  Assafoetida  and  so  forth.     But  a  few  abortive 
pages  are  all  the  result  as  yet.     If  my  speculations  should 
ever  see  daylight,  they  may  chance  to  get  you  into  scrapes, 
but  will  certainly  get  me  into  worse.'     *     *     *     <  gut  one 
must  work ;  sic  itur  ad  astra, — and  the  astra  are  always 
there  to  befriend  one,  at  least  as  asterisks,  filling  up  the 
gaps  which  yawn  in  vain  for  words. 

'  Except  my  unsuccessful  efforts  to  discuss  you  and  your 
offences,  I  have  done  nothing  that  leaves  a  trace  behind ; — 
unless  the  endeavor  to  teach  my  little  boy  the  Latin  de- 
clensions shall  be  found,  at  some  time  short  of  the  Last 
Day,  to  have  done  so.  I  have, — rather  I  think  from  dys- 
pepsia than  dyspneumony, — been  often  and  for  days  dis- 
abled from  doing  any  thing  but  read.  In  this  way  I  have 
gone  through  a  good  deal  of  Strauss's  Book  ;  which  is  ex- 
ceedingly clever  and  clear-headed ;  with  more  of  insight, 
and  less  of  destructive  rage  than  I  expected.  It  will  work 
deep  and  far,  in  such  a  time  as  ours.  When  so  many 
minds  are  distracted  about  the  history,  or  rather  genesis  of 
the  Gospel,  it  is  a  great  thing  for  partisans  on  the  one  side 


248  JOHN    STERLING. 

to  have,  what  the  other  never  have  wanted,  a  Book  of 
which  they  can  say,  This  is  our  Creed  and  Code, — or 
rather  Anti-creed  and  Anti-code.  And  Strauss  seems  per- 
fectly secure  against  the  sort  of  answer  to  which  Voltaire's 
critical  and  historical  shallowness  perpetually  exposed  him. 
I  mean  to  read  the  Book  through.  It  seems  admitted  that 
the  orthodox  theologians  have  failed  to  give  any  sufficient 
answer. — I  have  also  looked  through  Michelet's  Luther, 
with  great  delight ;  and  have  read  the  fourth  volume  of 
Coleridge's  Literary  Remains,  in  which  there  are  things 
that  would  interest  you.  He  has  a  great  hankering  after 
Cromwell,  and  explicitly  defends  the  execution  of  Charles. 

'  Of  Mrs.  Strachey  we  have  see  a  great  deal ;  and  might 
have  seen  more,  had  I  had  time  and  spirits  for  it.  She  is 
a  warmhearted,  enthusiastic  creature,  whom  one  cannot  but 
like.  She  seems  always  excited  by  the  wish  for  more  ex- 
citement than  her  life  affords.  And  such  a  person  is  always 
in  danger  of  doing  something  less  wise  than  his  best  knowl- 
edge and  aspirations  ;  because  he  must  do  something,  and 
circumstances  do  not  allow  him  to  do  what  he  desires. — 
Thence  after  the  first  glow  of  novelty,  endless  self-torment- 
ing comes  from  the  contrast  between  aims  and  acts.  She 
sets  out,  with  her  daughter  and  two  boys,  for  a  Tour  in 
Wales  tomorrow  morning.  Her  talk  of  you  is  always  most 
affectionate  ;  and  few,  I  guess,  will  read  Sartor  with  more 
interest  than  she. 

'  I  am  still  in  a  very  extempore  condition  as  to  house. 
Books,  &c.  One  which  I  have  hired  for  three  years  will 
be  given  up  to  me  in  the  middle  of  August ;  and  then  I 
may  hope  to  have  something  like  a  house, — so  far  as  that 
is  possible  for  any  one  to  whom  Time  itself  is  often  but  a 


CLIFTON.  249 

worse  or  a  better  kind  of  cave  in  the  desert.  "VVe  have  had 
rainy  and  cheerless  ^Yeather  almost  since  the  day  of  our 
arrival.  But  the  sun  now  shines  more  lovingly,  and  the 
skies  seem  less  disdainful  of  man  and  his  perplexities.  The 
earth  is  green,  abundant  and  beautiful.  But  human  life, 
so  far  as  I  can  learn,  is  mean  and  meagre  enough  in  its 
purposes,  however  striking  to  the  speculative  or  sentimen- 
tal bystander.  Pray  be  assured  that  whatever  you  may 
say  of  the  "  landlord  at  Clifton,"*  the  more  I  know  of 
him,  the  less  I  shall  like  him.  "Well  with  me  if  I  can  put 
up  with  him  for  the  present,  and  make  use  of  him,  till  at 
last  I  can  joyfully  turn  him  oflf  forever  ! 

'  Love  to  your  Wife  and  self.  My  little  Charlotte  de- 
sires me  to  tell  you  that  she  has  new  shoes  for  her  Doll, 
which  she  will  shew  you  when  you  come. — Yours, 

'  John  Sterling.' 

The  visit  to  Clifton  never  took  effect;  nor  to  any  of 
Sterling's  subsequent  homes ;  which  now  is  matter  of 
regret  to  me.  Concerning  the  '  Revieiu  of  Teufelsdro  chh ' 
there  will  be  more  to  say  anon.  As  to  '  little  Charlotte 
and  her  Doll,'  I  remember  well  enough  and  was  more  than 
once  reminded,  this  bright  little  creature,  on  one  of  my 
first  visits  to  Bayswater,  had  earnestly  applied  to  me  to 
put  her  Doll's  shoes  on  for  her  ;  which  feat  was  performed. 
— The  next  fragment  indicates  a  household  settled,  fallen 
into  wholesome  routine  again ;  and  may  close  the  series 
here  : 

July  22c?,  1839  (^To  Ms  Mother) .—' A  fev^  evenings 

*  Of  sterling  himself,  I  suppose. 


250  JOHN    STERLING. 

ago  we  went  to  Mr.  GriflSa's,  and  met  there  Dr.  Prichard, 
the  author  of  a  well  known  Book  on  the  Races  of  Mankind, 
to  which  it  stands  in  the  same  relation  among  English  books 
as  the  Racing  Calendar  does  to  those  of  Horsekind.  He 
is  a  very  intelligent,  accomphshed  person.     We  had  also 

there  the  Dean  ;  a  certain  Dr. of  Corpus  College, 

Cambridge  (a  booby)  ;  and  a  clever  fellow,  a  Mr.  Fisher, 
one  of  the  Tutors  of  Trinity  in  my  days.  We  had  a  very 
pleasant  evening.' — 

At  London  we  were  in  the  habit  of  expecting  Sterling 
pretty  often :  his  presence,  in  this  house  as  in  others,  was 
looked  for,  once  in  the  month  or  two,  and  came  always  as 
sunshine  in  the  gray  weather  to  me  and  mine.  My  daily 
walks  with  him  had  long  since  been  cut  short  without  re- 
newal ;  that  walk  to  Eltham  and  Edgeworth's  perhaps  the 
last  of  the  kind  he  and  I  had  :  but  our  intimacy,  deepen- 
ing and  widening  year  after  year,  knew  no  interruption  or 
abatement  of  increase  ;  an  honest,  frank  and  truly  human 
mutual  relation,  valuable  or  even  invaluable  to  both  parties , 
and  a  lasting  loss,  hardly  to  be  replaced  in  this  world,  to 
the  survivor  of  the  two. 

His  visits,  which  were  usually  of  two  or  three  days, 
were  always  full  of  .business,  rapid  in  movement  as  all  his 
life  was.  To  me,  if  possible,  he  would  come  in  the  even- 
ing ;  a  whole  cornucopia  of  talk  and  speculation  was  to  be 
discharged.  If  the  evening  would  not  do,  and  my  affairs 
otherwise  permitted,  I  had  to  mount  into  cabs  with  him  ; 
fly  far  and  wide,  shuttling  athwart  the  big  Babel,  where- 
ever  his  calls  and  pauses  had  to  be.  This  was  his  way  to 
husband   time !     Our    talk,    in  such   straitened    circum- 


CLIFTON.  261 

stances,  was  loud  or  low  as  the  circumambient  groaning 
rage  of  wheels  and  sound  prescribed, — very  loud  it  had  to 
be  in  such  thoroughfares  as  London  Bridge  and  Cheapside ; 
but  except  while  he  was  absent,  off  for  minutes  into  some 
banker's  office,  lawyer's,  stationer's,  haberdasher's  or  what 
office  there  might  be,  it  never  paused.     In  this  way  exten- 
sive strange  dialogues  were  carried  on :  to  me  also  very 
strange, — private  friendly  colloquies,  on  all  manner  of  rich 
subjects,  held  thus  amid  the  chaotic  roar  of  things.     Ster- 
ling was  full  of  speculations,  observations  and  bright  sallies; 
vividly  awake  to  what  was  passing  in  the  world  ;  glanced 
pertinently  with  victorious  clearness,  without  spleen,  though 
often  enough  with  a  dash  of  mockery,  into  its  Puseyisms, 
Liberalisms,  literary  Lionisms,  or  what  else  the  mad  hour 
might  be  producing, — always  prompt   to  recognize  what 
grain  of  sanity  might  be  in  the  same.     He  was  opulent  in 
talk,  and  the  rapid  movement  and  vicissitude  on  such  occa- 
sions seemed  to  give  him  new  excitement.   - 

Once,  I  still  remember, — it  was  some  years  before, 
probably  in  May,  on  his  return  from  Madeira, — he  under- 
took a  day's  riding  with  me  ;  once  and  never  again.  We 
coursed  extensively  over  the  Hampstead  and  Highgate 
regions,  and  the  country  beyond,  sauntering  or  galloping 
through  many  leafy  lanes  and  pleasant  places,  in  overflow- 
ing, ever-changing  talk  ;  and  returned  down  Regent  street 
at  nightfall :  one  of  the  cheerfullest  days  I  ever  had  ; — 
not  to  be  repeated,  said  the  Fates.  Sterling  was  charming 
on  such  occasions  :  at  once  a  child  and  a  gifted  man.  A 
serious  fund  of  thought  he  always  had,  a  serious  drift  you 
never  missed  in  him :  nor  indeed  had  he  much  depth  of 
real  laughter  or  sense  of  the  ludicrous,  as  I  have  elsewhere 


252  JOHN    STERLING. 

said  ;  but  what  he  had  was  genuine,  free  and  continual :  his 
sparkling  salhes  bubbled  up  as  from  aerated  natural  foun- 
tains ;  a  mild  dash  of  gajetj  was  native  to  the  man,  and 
had  moulded  his  physiognomy  in  a  very  graceful  Avay.  We 
got  once  into  a  cab,  about  Charing  Cross  ;  I  know  not  now 
whence  or  well  whitherward,  nor  that  our  haste  was  at  all 
special ;  however,  the  cabman,  sensible  that  his  pace  was 
slowish,  took  to  whipping,  with  a  steady,  passionless,  busi- 
ness-like assiduity  which,  though  the  horse  seemed  lazy 
rather  than  weak,  became  afflictive ;  and  I  urged  remon- 
strance with  the  savage  fellow:  "  Let  him  alone,"  answered 
Sterling  ;  "  he  is  kindling  the  enthusiasm  of  his  horse,  you 
perceive  ;  that  is  the  first  thing,  then  we  shall  do  very 
well  I " — as  accordingly  we  did. 

At  Clifton,  though  his  thoughts  began  to  turn  more  on 
poetic  forms  of  composition,  he  was  diligent  in  prose  elabo- 
rations too, — doing  Criticism,  for  one  thing,  as  we  incident- 
ally observed.  He  wrote  there,  and  sent  forth  in  this 
autumn  of  1839,  his  most  important  contribution  to  John 
Mill's  Review,  the  Article  on  Carlyle,  which  stands  also  in 
Mr.  Hare's  collection.*  What  its  effect  on  the  pubhc  was  I 
knew  not,  and  know  not ;  but  remember  well,  and  may 
here  be  permitted  to  acknowledge,  the  deep  silent  joy,  not 
of  a  weak  or  ignoble  nature,  which  it  gave  to  myself  in  my 
then  mood  and  situation  ;  as  it  well  might.  The  first  gen- 
erous human  recognition,  expressed  with  heroic  emphasis, 
and  clear  conviction  visible  amid  its  fiery  exaggeration,  that 
one's  poor  battle  in  this  world  is  not  quite  a  mad  and  futile, 

*  Hare,  i.  p.  252. 


CLIFTON.  253 

that  it  is  perhaps  a  worthy  and  manful  one,  which  will 
come  to  something  yet :  this  fact  is  a  memorable  one  in 
every  history ;  and  for  me  Sterling,  often  enough  the  stiflf 
gainsayer  in  our  private  communings,  was  the  doer  of  this. 
The  thought  burnt  in  me  like  a  lamp,  for  several  days ; 
lighting  up  into  a  kind  of  heroic  splendor  the  sad  volcanic 
wrecks,  abysses  and  convulsions  of  said  poor  battle;  and 
secretly  I  was  very  grateful  to  my  daring  friend,  and  am 
still,  and  ought  to  be.  What  the  public  might  be  thinking 
about  him  and  his  audacities,  and  me  in  consequence,  or 
whether  it  thought  at  all,  I  never  learned,  or  much  heeded 
to  learn. 

Sterling's  gainsaying  had  given  way  on  many  points ;  but 
on  others  it  continued  stiflf  as  ever,  as  may  be  seen  in  that 
Article;  indeed  he  fought  Parthian-like  in  such  cases, 
holding  out  his  last  position  as  doggedly  as  the  first :  and 
to  some  of  my  notions  he  seemed  to  grow  in  stubbornness 
of  opposition,  with  the  growing  inevitability,  and  never 
would  surrender.  Especially  that  doctrine  of  the  '  great- 
ness and  fruitfulness  of  Silence,'  remained  afflictive  and 
incomprehensible  :  "  Silence  ?  "  he  would  say  :  "  Yes, 
truly  ;  if  they  give  you  leave  to  proclaim  silence  by  cannon 
salvoes !  My  Harpocrates-Stentor !  "  In  like  manner, 
'  Intellect  and  Virtue,'  how  they  are  proportional,  or  are 
indeed  one  gift  in  us,  the  same  great  summary  of  gifts ; 
and  again,  '  Might  and  Right,'  the  identity  of  these  two, 
if  a  man  will  understand  this  God's-Univcrse,  and  that  only 
he  who  conforms  to  the  law  of  it  can  in  the  longrun  have 
any  '  might : '  all  this,  at  the  first  blush,  often  awakened 
Sterling's  musketry  upon  me,  and  many  volleys  I  have  had 
to  stand, — the  thing  not  being  decidable  by  that  kind  of 
weapon  or  strategy. 
22 


254  JOHN    STERLING. 

In  such  cases  your  one  method  was  to  leave  our  friend 
ib  peace.  By  small-arms  practice  no  mortal  could  dislodge 
him ;  but  if  you  were  in  the  right,  the  silent  hours  would 
work  continually  for  you  ;  and  Sterling,  more  certainly 
than  any  man,  would  and  must  at  length  swear  fealty  to 
the  right,  and  passionately  adopt  it,  burying  all  hostilities 
under  foot. .  A  more  candid  soul,  once  let  the  stormful 
velocities  of  it  expend  themselves,  -vfas  nowhere  to  be  met 
with.  A  son  of  light,  if  I  have  ever  seen  one  ;  recognizing 
the  truth,  if  truth  there  were  ;  hurling  overboard  his  vani- 
ties, petulances,  big  and  small  interests,  in  ready  loyalty  to 
truth ;  very  beautiful ;  at  once  a  loyal  child,  as  I  said,  and 
a  gifted  man  ! — Here  is  a  very  pertinent  passage  from  one 
of  his  Letters,  which,  though  the  name  continues  blank,  I 
will  insert : 

October  15t7i,  1839    (To   Us  Father).—^  As   to  my 

"  over-estimate  of ,"  your  expressions  rather  puzzle 

me.  I  suppose  there  may  be,  at  the  outside,  a  hundred 
persons  in  England  whose  opinions  on  such  a  matter  are 
worth  as  much  as  mine.  If  by  "  the  public,"  you  and  my 
Mother  mean  the  other  ninety-nine,  I  submit.  I  have  no 
doubt  that,  on  any  matter  not  relating  peculiarly  to  myself, 
"the  judgment  of  the  ninety-nine  most  philosophical  heads  in 
the  country,  if  unanimous,  would  be  right,  and  mine,  if 
opposed  to  them,  wrong.  But  then  I  am  at  a  loss  to  make 
out.  How  the  decision  of  the  very  few  really  competent 
persons  has  been  ascertained  to  be  thus  in  contradiction  to 
me  ?  And  on  the  other  hand,  I  conceive  myself,  from  my 
opportunities,  knowledge  and  attention  to  the  subject,  to  be 
alone  quite  entitled  to  outvote  tens  of  thousands  of  gentle- 
men, however  much  my  superiors  as  men  of  business,  men 


CLIFTON.  255 

of  the  world,  or  men  of  merely  dry  or  merely  frivolous 
literature. 

'  I  do  not  remember  ever  before  to  have  heard  the  say- 
ing, whether  of  Talleyrand  or  of  any  one  else,  That  all  the 
world  is  a  wiser  man  than  any  man  in  the  world.     Had  it 
been  said  even  by  the  Devil,  it  would  nevertheless  be  false. 
I  have  often  indeed  heard  the  saying.   On  peut  etre  plus 
FIN"  qit'un  autre,  mats  jyas  p)lus  FIN  que  tons  les  autres. 
But  observe  that  "  fin  "  means  cunning,  not  ivise.     The 
diflference  between  this  assertion  and  the  one  you  refer  to 
is  curious,  and  worth  examining.     It  is  quite  certain,  there 
is  always  some  one  man  in  the  world  wiser  than  all  the 
rest ;  as  Socrates  was  declared  by  the  Oracle  to  be  ;    and 
as,  I  suppose.  Bacon  was  in  his  day,  and  perhaps  Burke  in 
his.     There  is  also  some  one,  whose  opinion  would  be  prob- 
ably true,  if  opposed  to  that  of  all  around  him  ;   and  it  is 
always  indubitable  that  the  wise  men  are  the  scores,  and 
the  unwise  the  millions.     The  millions  indeed  come  round, 
in  the  course  of  a  generation  or  two,  to  the  opinions  of  the 
wise  ;  but  by  that  time  a  new  race  of  wise  men  have  again 
shot  ahead  of  their  contemporaries  :   so  it  has  always  been, 
and  so,  in  the  nature  of  things," it  always  must  be.     But 
with  cunning,  the  matter  is  quite  different.     Cunning  is 
not  dishonest  tvisdom,  which  would  be  a  contradiction  in 
terms  ;  it  is  dishonest  prudence,  acuteness  in  practice,  not 
in  thought ;  and  though  there  must  always  be  some  one  the 
most  cunning  in  the  world,  as  well  as  some  one  the  most 
wise,  these  two  superlatives  will  fare  very  differently  in  the 
world.     In'  the  case  of  cunning,  the  shrewdness  of  a  whole 
people,  of  a  whole  generation,  may  doubtless  be  combined 
against  that  of  the  one,  and  so  triumph  over  it ;  which  was 


256  JOHN    STERLING. 

pretty  much  the  case  with  Napoleon.  But  although  a  man 
of  the  greatest  cunning  can  hardly  conceal  his  designs  and 
true  character  from  millions  of  unfriendly  eyes,  it  is  quite 
impossible  thus  to  club  the  eyes  of  the  mind,  and  to  consti- 
tute by  the  union  of  ten  thousand  follies  an  equivalent  for  a 
single  wisdom.  A  hundred  school-boys  can  easily  unite 
and  thrash  their  one  master ;  but  a  hundred  thousand 
school-boys  would  not  be  nearer  than  a  score  to  knowing  as 
much  Greek  among  them  as  Bentley  or  Scaliger.  To  all 
which,  I  believe  you  will  assent  as  readily  as  I ; — and  I 
have  written  it  down  only  because  I  have  nothing  more  im- 
portant to  say.' — 

Beside  his  prose  labors,  Sterling  had  by  this  time  writ- 
ten, publishing  chiefly  in  Blackwood^  a  large  assortment  of 
verses,  jSexton's  Daughter,  Hymns  of  a  Hermit,  and  I 
know  not  what  other  extensive  stock  of  pieces  ;  concerning 
which  he  was  now  somewhat  at  a  loss  as  to  his  true  course. 
He  could  write  verses  with  astonishing  facility,  in  any 
given  form  of  metre  ;  and  to  various  readers  they  seemed 
excellent,  and  high  judges  had  freely  called  them  so,  but  he 
himself  had  grave  misgivings  on  that  latter  essential  point. 
In  fact  here  once  more  was  a  parting  of  the  ways,  "  Write 
in  Poetry  ;  write  in  Prose  ?  "  upon  which,  before  all  else, 
it  much  concerned  him  to  come  to  a  settlement. 

My  own  advice  was,  as  it  had  always  been,  steady 
against  Poetry  ;  and  we  had  colloquies  upon  it,  which  must 
have  tried  his  patience,  for  in  him  there  was  a  strong  lean- 
ing the  other  way.  But,  as  I  remarked  and  urged  :  Had 
he  not  already  gained  superior  excellence  in  delivering,  by 
way  of  speech  or  prose,  what  thoughts  were  in  him,  which 


CLIFTON.  257 

is  the  grand  and  only  intrinsic  function  of  a  writing  man, 
call  him  by  what  title  you  will?  Cultivate  that  superior 
excellence  till  it  become  a  perfect  and  superlative  one. 
Why  sing  your  bits  of  thoughts,  if  you  can  contrive  to  speak 
them?  By  your  thought,  not  by  your  mode  of  deliver- 
ing it,  you  must  live  or  die. — Besides  I  had  to  observe 
there  was  in  Sterling  intrinsically  no  depth  of  tune  ;  which 
surely  is  the  real  test  of  a  Poet  or  Singer,  as  distinguished 
from  a  Speaker  ?  In  music  proper  he  had  not  the  slight- 
est ear ;  all  music  was  mere  impertinent  noise  to  him, 
nothing  in  it  perceptible  but  the  mere  march  or  time.  Nor 
in  his  way  of  conception  and  utterance,  in  the  verses  he 
wrote,  was  there  any  contradiction,  but  a  constant  confirm- 
ation to  me,  of  that  fatal  prognostic  ;  as  indeed  the  whole 
man,  in  ear  and  heart  and  tongue,  is  one  ;  and  he  whose 
soul  does  not  sing,  need  not  try  to  do  it  with  his  throat. 
Stearling's  verses  had  a  monotonous  rub-a  dub,  instead  of 
tune  ;  no  trace  of  music  deeper  than  that  of  a  well-beaten 
drum  ;  to  which  limited  range  of  excellence  the  substance 
also  corresponded ;  being  intrinsically  always  a  rhymed  and 
slightly  rhythmical  speech^  not  a  song. 

In  short,  all  seemed  to  me  to  say,  in  his  case:  "You 
can  speak  with  supreme  excellence  :  sing  with  considerable 
excellence  you  never  can.  And  the  Age  itself,  does  it  not, 
beyond  most  ages,  demand  and  require  clear  speech  ;  an 
Age  incapable  of  being  sung  to,  in  any  but  a  trivial  man- 
ner, till  these  convulsive  agonies  and  wild  revolutionary 
overturnings  readjust  themselves  ?  Intelligible  word  of 
command,  not  musical  psalmody  and  fiddling,  is  possible  in 
this  fell  storm  of  battle.  Beyond  all  ages,  our  Age  admon- 
ishes whatsoever  thinking  or  writing  man  it  has  :    Oh  speak 


258  JOHN    STERLING. 

to  me,  some  wse  intelligible  speech;  your  wise  meaning, 
in  the  shortest  and  clearest  way ;  behold,  I  am  dying  for 
■want  of  wise  meaning,  and  insight  into  the  devouring  fact : 
speak,  if  you  have  any  wisdom !  As  to  song  so-called,  and 
your  fiddling  talent, — even  if  .you  have  one,  much  more  if 
you  have  none, — we  will  talk  of  that  a  couple  of  centuries 
hence,  when  things  are  calmer  again.  Homer  shall  be 
thrice  welcome  ;  but  only  when  Troy  is  taken  :  alas,  while 
the  siege  lasts,  and  battle's  fury  rages  everywhere,  what 
can  I  do  with  the  Homer  ?  I  want  Achilleus  and  Odysseus, 
and  am  enraged  to  see  them  trying  to  be  Homers  !  " — 

Sterling,  who  respected  my  sincerity,  and  always  was 
amenable  enough  to  counsel,  was  doubtless  much  confused 
by  such  contradictory  diagnosis  of  his  case.  The  question. 
Poetry  or  Prose  ?  became  more  and  more  pressing,  more 
and  more  insoluble.  He  decided,  at  last,  to  appeal  to  the 
public  upon  it ; — got  ready,  in  the  late  autumn,  a  small 
select  Volume  of  his  verses  ;  and  was  now  busy  pushing  it 
through  the  press.  Unfortunately,  in  the  meanwhile,  a 
grave  illness,  of  the  old  pulmonary  sort,  overtook  him, 
which  at  one  time  threatened  to  be  dangerous.  This  is  a 
glance  again  into  his  interior  household  in  these  circum- 
stances : 

December  21st,  1839,  {To  his  Mother).—'  The  Tin-box 
came  quite  safe,  with  all  its  miscellaneous  contents.  I 
suppose  we  are  to  thank  you  for  the  Comic  Almanack, 
which,  as  usual,  is  very  amusing  ;  and  for  the  Book  on 
Watt,  which  disappointed  me.  The  scientific  part  is  no 
doubt  very  good,  and  particularly  clear  and  simple  ;  but 
there  is  nothing  remarkable  in  the  account  of  Watt's  char- 
acter, and  it  is  an  absurd  piece  of  French  impertinence  in 


CLIFTON.  259 

Arago  to  say,  that  England  has  not  yet  learnt  to  appre- 
ciate men  like  "Watt,  because  he  was  not  made  a  peer ; 
which,  Avere  our  peerage  an  institution  like  that  of  France, 
would  have  been  very  proper. 

'  I  have  now  finished  correcting  the  proofs  of  my  little 
Volume  of  Poems.  It  has  been  a  great  plague  to  me,  and 
one  that  I  would  not  have  incurred,  had  I  expected  to  be 
laid  up  as  I  have  been  ;  but  the  matter  was  begun  before  I 
had  any  notion  of  being  disabled  by  such  an  illness, — the 
severest  I  have  suffered  since  I  went  to  the  West  Indies. 
The  Book  will,  after  all,  be  a  botched  business  in  many 
respects ;  and  I  much  doubt  whether  it  will  pay  its  ex- 
penses :  but  I  try  to  consider  it  as  out  of  my  hands,  and 
not  to  fret  myself  about  it.  I  shall  be  very  curious  too  see 
Carlyle's  Tractate  on  Chartism;  which' — But  we  need 
not  enter  upon  that. 

Sterling's  little  Book  was  printed  at  his  own  expense ; 
published  by  Moxon  in  the  very  end  of  this  year.*  It  car- 
ries an  appropriate  and  pretty  Epigraph  : 

'  Feeling,  Thought  and  Fancy  be 

'  Gentle  sister  Graces  three : 
'  If  these  prove  averse  to  me, 

'  They  will  punish, — pardon  Ye ! ' 

He  had  dedicated  the  little  Volume  to  Mr.  Hare ; — and  he 
submitted  very  patiently  to  the  discouraging  neglect  with 
which  it  was  received  by  the  world :  for  indeed  the  '  Ye  ' 
said  nothing  audible,  in  the  way  of  pardon  or  other  doom  ; 
so  that  whether  the  '  sister  Graces '  were  averse  or  not, 
remained  as  doubtful  as  ever. 

*  Poems  by  John  Sterling.    London  (Moxon),  1839. 


260  JOHN    STERLING. 


CHAPTER    IX. 


TWO    WINTERS. 


As  we  said  above,  it  had  been  hoped  by  Sterling's  friends, 
not  very  confidently  by  himself,  that  in  the  gentler  air  of 
Clifton  his  health  might  so  far  recover  as  to  enable  him  to 
dispense  with  autumnal  voyages,  and  to  spend  the  year  all 
round  in  a  house  of  his  own.  These  hopes,  favorable  Avhile 
the  warm  season  lasted,  broke  down  when  winter  came.  In 
November  of  this  same  year,  while  his  little  Volume  was 
passing  through  the  press,  bad  and  worse  symptoms,  spitting 
of  blood  to  crown  the  sad  list,  reappeared  ;  and  Sterling 
had  to  equip  himself  again,  at  this  late  season,  for  a  new 
flight  to  Madeira ;  wherein  the  good  Calvert,  himself 
sufiering,  and  ready  on  all  grounds  for  such  an  adventure, 
offered  to  accompany  him.  Sterling  went  by  land  to 
Falmouth,  meaning  there  to  wait  for  Calvert,  who  was  to 
come  by  the  Madeira  Packet,  and  there  take  him  on  board. 
Calvert  and  the  Packet  did  arrive,  in  stormy  January 
Aveather ;  which  continued  wildly  blowing  for  weeks  ;  for- 
bidding all  egress  Westward,  especially  for  invahds.  These 
elemental  tumults,  and  blustering  wars  of  sea  and  sky, 
with  nothing  but  the  misty  solitude  of  Madeira  in  the 
distance,  formed  a  very  discouraging  outlook.  In  the 
meanwhile  Falmouth  itself  had  offered  so  many  resources, 
and  seemed  so  tolerable  in  climate  and  otherwise,  while 


TWO    WINTERS.  261 

this  wintry  ocean  looked  so  inhospitable  for  invalids,  it  was 
resolved  our  voyagers  should  stay  where  they  were  till 
spring  returned.  Which  accordingly  was  done  ;  with  good 
effect  for  that  season,  and  also  Avith  results  for  the  coming 
seasons.  Here  again,  from  Letters  to  Knightsbridge,  are 
some  glimpses  of  his  winter  life  : 

Falmouth,  February  5th,  1840. — '  I  have  been  today  to 
see  a  new  tin-mine,  two  or  three  miles  off,  which  is  expected 
to  turn  into  a  copper-mine  by  and  by,  so  they  will  have  the 
two  constituents  of  bronze  close  together.  This,  by  the 
way,  was  the  "  brass  "  of  Homer  and  the  Ancients  gener- 
ally, who  do  not  seem  to  have  known  our  brass  made  of 
copper  and  zinc.  Achilles  in  his  armor  must  have  looked 
like  a  bronze  statue. — I  took  Sheridan's  advice,  and  did 
not  go  down  the  mine.' 

Fehruary  15th. — '  To  some  iron-works  the  other  day ; 
where  I  saw  half  the  beam  of  a  great  steam-engine,  a  piece 
of  iron  forty  feet  long  and  seven  broad,  cast  in  about  five 
minutes.  It  was  a  very  striking  spectacle.  I  hope  to  go 
to  Penzance  before  I  leave  this  country  ;  and  will  not  fail 
to  tell  you  about  it.' — He  did  make  trial  of  Penzance, 
among  other  places,  next  year  ;  but  only  of  Falmouth  this. 

February  20th, — '  I  am  going  on  asy  here,  in  spite  of  a 
great  change  of  weather.  The  East  winds  are  come  at 
last ;  bringing  with  them  snow,  which  has  been  driving 
about  for  the  last  twenty-four  hours  ;  not  falling  heavily, 
nor  lying  long  when  fallen.  Neither  is  it  as  yet  very  cold, 
but  I  suppose  there  will  be  some  six  weeks  of  unpleasant 
temperature.  The  marine  climate  of  this  part  of  England 
will,  no  doubt,  modify  and  mollify  the  air  into  a  happier 
sort  of  substance  than  that  you  breathe  in  London. 


262  JOHN    STEELING. 

'  The  large  vessels  that  had  been  lying  here  for  weeks, 
waiting  for  a  wind,  have  now  sailed  ;  two  of  them  for  the 
East  Indies,  and  having  three  hundred  soldiers  on  board. 
It  is  a  curious  thing  that  the  long-continued  westerly  winds 
had  so  prevented  the  coasters  arriving,  that  the  Town  was 
almost  on  the  point  of  a  famine  as  to  bread.  The  change 
has  brought  in  abundance  of  flour. — The  people  in  general 
seem  extremely  comfortable  ;  their  houses  are  excellent, 
almost  all  of  stone.  Their  habits  are  very  little  agricul- 
tural, but  mining  and  fishing  seem  to  prosper  with  them. 
There  are  hardly  any  gentry  here  ;  I  have  not  seen  more 
than  two  gentlemen's  carriages  in  the  Town  ;  indeed  I 
think  the  nearest  one  comes  from  five  miles  off.' 

'  I  have  been  obliged  to  try  to  occupy  myself  with 
Natural  Science,  in  order  to  give  some  interest  to  my 
walks ;  and  have  begun  to  feel  my  way  in  Geology.  I 
have  now  learnt  to  recognize  three  or  four  of  the  common 
kinds  of  stone  about  here,  when  I  see  them  ;  but  I  find  it 
stupid  work  compared  with  Poetry  and  Philosophy.  In 
the  mornings,  however,  for  an  hour  or  so  before  I  get  up,  I 
generally  light  my  candle,  and  try  to  write  some  verses  ; 
and  since  I  have  been  here,  I  have  put  together  short 
poems,  almost  enough  for  another  small  volume.  In  the 
evenings  I  have  gone  on  translating  some  of  Goethe.  But 
six  or  seven  hours  spent  on  my  legs,  in  the  open  air,  do  not 
leave  my  brain  much  energy  for  thinking.  Thus  my'  life  is 
a  dull  and  unprofitable  one,  but  still  better  than  it  would 
have  been  in  Madeira  or  on  board  ship.  I  hear  from  Susan 
every  day,  and  write  to  her  by  return  of  post.' 

At  Falmouth  Sterling  had  been  warmly  welcomed  by- 
the   well-known   Quaker  family   of    the   Foxes,   principal 


TWO    WINTERS. 


263 


people  in  that  place,  persons  of  cultivated  opulent  habits, 
and  joining  to  the  fine  purities  and  pieties  of  their  sect  a 
reverence  for  human  intelligence  in  all  kinds  ;  to  whom 
such  a  visitor  as  Sterling  was  naturally  a  welcome  windfall. 
The  family  had  grave  elders,  bright  cheery  younger 
branches,  men  and  women  ;  truly  amiable  all,  after  their 
sort :  they  made  a  pleasant  image  of  home  for  Sterling  in 
his  winter  exile.  '  Most  worthy,  respectable  and  highly 
cultivated  people,  with  a  great  deal  of  money  among  them,' 
writes  Sterling  in  the  end  of  February  ;  '  who  make  the 
place  pleasant  to  me.  They  are  connected  Avith  all  the 
large  Quaker  circle,  the  Gurneys,  Frys,  &c.,  and  also  with 
Buxton  the  Abolitionist.  It  is  droll  to  hear  them  talking 
of  all  the  common  topics  of  science,  literature  and  life, 
and  in  the  midst  of  it :  "  Dost  thou  know  Wordsworth  ?  " 
or,  "  Did  thou  see  the  Coronation  ?"  or,  "  Will  thou  take 
some  refreshment  ?"  They  are  very  kind  and  pleasant 
people  to  know. 

*  Calvert,'  continues  our  Diarist,  '  is  better  than  he 
lately  -was,  though  he  has  not  been  at  all  laid  up.  He 
shoots  little  birds,  and  dissects  and  stuffs  them ;  while  I 
carry  a  hammer,  and  break  flints  and  slates,  to  look  for 
diamonds  and  rubies  inside ;  and  admire  my  success  in  the 
evening,  when  I  empty  my  greatcoat  pocket  of  its  speci- 
mens. On  the  whole,  I  doubt  whether  my  physical  pro- 
ceedings will  set  the  Thames  on  fire.  Give  my  love  to 
Anthony's  Charlotte ;  also  remember  me  affectionately  to 
the  Carlyles.' — 

At  this  time,  too,  John  Mill,  probably  encouraged  by 
Sterling,  arrived  in  Falmouth,  seeking  refuge  of  climate  for 
a  sickly  younger  Brother,  to  whom  also,  while  he  continued 


264  JOHN    STERLING. 

there,  and  to  his  poor  patient,  the  doors  and  hearts  of  this 
kind  family  were  thrown  wide  open.  Falmouth  during 
these  winter  weeks,  especially  while  Mill  continued,  was  an 
unexpectedly  engaging  place  to  Sterling  ;  and  he  left  it  in 
spring,  for  Clifton,  with  a  very  kindly  image  of  it  in  his 
thoughts.  So  ended,  better  than  it  might  have  done,  his 
first  year's  flight  from  the  Clifton  winter. 

In  April  1840  he  was  at  his  own  hearth  again  ;  cheerily 
pursuing  his  old  labors, — struggling  to  redeem,  as  he  did 
with  a  gallant  constancy,  the  available  months  and  days, 
out  of  the  wreck  of  so  many  that  were  unavailable,  for  the 
business  allotted  him  in  this  world.  His  swift,  decisive 
energy  of  character ;  the  valiant  rally  he  made  again  and 
ever  again,  starting  up  fresh  from  amid  the  wounded,  and 
cheerily  storming  in  anew,  was  admirable,  and  shewed  a 
noble  fund  of  natural  health  amid  such  an  element  of  dis- 
ease. Somehow  one  could  never  rightly  fancy  that  he  was 
diseased  ;  that  those  fatal  ever-recurring  downbreaks  were 
not  almost  rather  the  penalities  paid  for  exuberance  of 
health,  and  of  faculty  for  living  and  working  ;  criminal 
forfeitures,  incurred  by  excess  of  selfexertion  and  such 
irrepressible  over-rapidity  of  movement;  and  the  vague 
hope  was  habitual  with  us,  that  increase  of  years,  as  it 
deadened  this  over-energy,  would  first  make  the  man  secure 
of  life,  and  a  sober  prosperous  worker  among  his  fellows. 
It  was  always  as  if  with  a  kind  of  blame  that  one  heard  of 
his  being  ill  again  !  Poor  Sterling  : — no  man  knows  anoth- 
er's burden  :  these  things  were  not,  and  were  not  to  be,  in 
the  way  we  had  fancied  them  ! 


TWO    WINTERS.  265 

Summer  went  along  in  its  usual  quiet  tenor  at  Clifton ; 
health  good,  as  usual  Avhile  the  warm  weather  lasted,  and 
activity  abundant ;  the  scene  as  still  as  the  busiest  could 
wish.  '  You  metropolitan  signers,'  Avrites  Sterhng  to  his 
Father,  '  cannot  conceive  the  dullness  and  scantiness  of 
our  provincial  chronicle.'  Here  is  a  little  excursion  to  the 
seaside ;  the  lady  of  the  family  being  again, — for  good 
reasons, — in  a  weakly  state  : — 

*  To  Edward  Sterling^  Esq.,  Knigldsbridge,  London. 

Portshead,  Bristol,  Sept.  1st,  1840. 

'  My  Dear  Father, — This  place  is  a  southern  headland 
at  the  mouth  of  the  Avon.  Susan,  and  the  Children  too, 
were  all  suffering  from  languor  ;  and  as  she  is  quite  unfit 
to  travel  in  a  carriage,  we  were  obliged  to  move,  if  at  all, 
to  some  place  accessible  by  water ;  and  this  is  the  nearest 
where  we  could  get  the  fresher  air  of  the  Bristol  Channel. 
We  sent  to  take  a  house,  for  a  week ;  and  came  down  here 
in  a  steamer  yesterday  morning.  It  seems  likely  to  do 
every  one  good.  We  have  a  comfortable  house,  with  eight 
rather  small  bedrooms,  for  which  we  pay  four  guineas  and 
a  half  for  the  week.  We  have  brought  three  of  our  own 
maids,  and  leave  one  to  take  care  of  the  house  at  Clifton. 

'  A  week  ago  my  horse  fell  with  me,  but  did  not  hurt 
seriously  either  himself  or  me  :  it  was,  however,  rather  hard 
that,  as  there  were  six  legs  to  be  damaged,  the  one  that 
did  scratch  itself  should  belong  to  the  part  of  the  machine 
possessing  only  two,  instead  of  the  quadrupedal  portion.  I 
grazed  about  the  size  of  a  halfpenny  on  ray  left  knee  ;  and 
for  a  coui)le  of  days,  walked  about  as  if  nothing  had  hap- 
?3 


266  JOHN    STERLING. 

pened.  I  found,  however,  that  the  skin  was  not  returning 
correctly ;  and  so  sent  for  a  doctor ;  he  treated  the  thing 
as  quite  insignificant,  but  said  I  must  keep  my  leg  quiet 
for  a  few  days.  It  is  still  not  quite  healed  ;  and  I  he  all 
day  on  a  sofa,  much  to  my  discomposure  ;  but  the  thing  is 
now  rapidly  disappearing ;  and  I  hope,  in  a  day  or  two 
more,  I  shall  be  free  again.  I  find  I  can  do  no  work,  while 
thus  crippled  in  my  leg.  The  man  in  Horace  who  made 
verses  stans  pede  in  uno  had  the  advantage  of  me. 

'  The  Great  Western  came  in  last  night  about  eleven, 
and  has  just  been  making  a  flourish  past  our  Avindows  ; 
looking  very  grand,  with  four  streamers  of  bunting,  and  one 
of  smoke.  Of  course  I  do  not  yet  know  whether  I  have 
Letters  by  her,  as  if  so  they  will  have  gone  to  Clifton  first. 
This  place  is  quiet,  green  and  pleasant ;  and  will  suit  us 
very  well,  if  we  have  good  weather,  of  tvhich  there  seems 
every  appearance. 

'  Milnes  spent  last  Sunday  with  me  at  Clifton  ;  and  was 
very  amusing  and  cordial.  It  is  impossible  for  those  who 
know  him  well  not  to  like  him. — I  send  this  to  Knights- 
bridge,  not  knowing  where  else  to  hit  you.  Love  to  my 
Mother. — Your  affectionate, 

John  Sterling.' 

The  expected  '  Letters  by  the  Great  Western'  are  from 
Anthony,  now  in  Canada,  doing  military  duties  there.  The 
*  Milnes'  is  our  excellent  Richard,  whom  all  men  know,  and 
truly  whom  none  can  know  well  without  even  doing  as 
Sterling  says.  In  a  week  the  family  had  returned  to  Clif- 
ton ;  and  Sterling  was  at  his  poetizings  and  equitations 
again.     His  grand  business  was  now  Poetry  ;  all  eflfort, 


TWO    WINTERS.  267 

outlook   and   aim  exclusively  directed  thither,   this  good 
while. 

Of  the  published  Volume  Moxon  gave  the  worst  tidings  ; 
no  man  had  hailed  it  with  welcome  ;  unsold  it  lay,  under 
the  leaden  seal  of  general  neglect ;  the  public  when  asked 
what  it  thought,  had  answered  hitherto  by  a  lazy  stare.  It 
shall  answer  otherwise,  thought  Sterling ;  by  no  means 
taking  that  as  the  final  response.  It  was  in  this  same 
September  that  he  announced  to  me  and  other  friends, 
under  seal  of  secrecy  as  usual,  the  completion,  or  complete 
first-draught,  of  "  a  new  Poem  reaching  to  two  thousand 
verses."  By  working  '  three  hours  every  morning '  he 
had  brought  it  so  far.  This  Piece,  entitled  The  Election, 
of  which  in  due  time  we  obtained  perusal,  and  had  to  give 
some  judgment,  proved  to  be  in  a  new  vein, — what  might 
be  called  the  mock-heroic,  or  sentimental  Hudibrastic,  re- 
minding one  a  little,  too,  of  Wieland's  Oheron  ; — it  had 
touches  of  true  drollery  combined  not  ill  with  grave  clear 
insight ;  shewed  spirit  everywhere,  and  a  plainly  improved 
power  of  execution.  Our  stingy  verdict  was  to  the  effect, 
"  Better,  but  still  not  good  enough: — why  follow  that  sad 
*  metrical '  course,  climbing  the  loose  sandhills,  when  you 
have  a  firm  path  along  the  plain  ?"  To  Sterling  himself  it 
remained  dubious  whether  so  slight  a  strain,  new  though  it 
were,  would  suffice  to  awaken  the  sleeping  public  ;  and  the 
Piece  was  thrown  away  and  taken  up  again,  at  intervals  ; 
and  the  question,  Publish  or  not  publish  ?  lay  many  months 
undecided. 

Meanwhile  his  own  feeling  was  now  set  more  and  more 
towards  Poetry :  and  in  spite  of  symptoms  and  dissuasions, 
and  perverse  prognostics  of  outward  wind  and  weather,  he 


268  JOHN    STERLING. 

was  rallying  all  his  force  for  a  downright  struggle  with  it ; 
resolute  to  see  which  was  the  stronger.  It  must  be  owned, 
he  takes  his  failures  in  the  kindliest  manner ;  and  goes 
along,  bating  no  jot  of  heart  or  hope.  Perhaps  I  should 
have  more  admired  this  than  I  did  !  Mj  dissuasions,  in 
that  case,  might  have  been  fainter.  But  then  my  sincerity, 
which  was  all  the  use  of  my  poor  counsel  in  assent  or  dis- 
sent, Avould  have  been  less.  He  was  now  furthermore  busy 
with  a  Tragedy  of  Strafford,  the  theme  of  many  failures  in 
Tragedy  ;  planning  it  industriously  in  his  head ;  eagerly 
reading  in  Whitlocke,  RusJnvorth  and  the  Puritan  Books, 
to  attain  a  vesture  and  local  habitation  for  it.  Faithful 
assiduous  studies,  I  do  believe  ; — of  which,  knowing  my 
stubborn  realism,  and  savage  humor  towards  singing  by  the 
Thespian  or  other  methods,  he  told  me  little  during  his 
visits  that  summer. 

The  advance  of  the  dark  weather  sent  him  adrift  again; 
to  Torquay,  for  this  winter :  there,  in  his  old  Falmouth 
climate,  he  hoped  to  do  well ; — and  did,  so  far  as  welldoing 
was  readily  possible,  in  that  sad  wandering  way  of  life. 
However,  be  where  he  may,  he  tries  to  work,  '  two  or  three 
hours  in  the  morning,*  were  it  even  '  with  a  lamp,'  in  bed, 
before  the  fires  are  lit ;  and  so  makes  something  of  it. 
From  abundant  Letters  of  his  now  before  me,  I  glean  these 
two  or  three  small  glimpses  ;  sufficient  for  our  purpose  at 
present.     The  general  date  is  '  Tor,  near  Torquay  :' 

Tor,  November  SOth,  1840  (To  Mrs.  Charles  Fox,  Fal- 
moutli). — '  I  reached  this  place  on  Thursday  ;  having,  after 
much  hesitation,  resolved  to  come  here,  at  least  for  the 
next  three  weeks, — with  some  obscure  purpose  of  embark- 


TWO    WINTERS.  269 

ing,  at  the  New  Year,  from  Falmouth  for  Malta,  and  so 
reaching  Naples,  which  I  have  not  seen.  There  was  also 
a  doubt  whether  I  should  not,  after  Christmas,  bring  my 
family  here  for  the  first  four  months  of  the  year.  All  this, 
however,  is  still  doubtful.  But  for  certain  inhabitants  of 
Falmouth  and  its  neighborhood,  this  place  would  be  far 
more  attractive  than  it.  But  I  have  here  also  friends, 
whose  kindness,  like  much  that  I  met  with  last  winter,  per- 
petually makes  me  wonder  at  the  stock  of  benignity  in 
human  nature.  A  brother  of  my  friend  Julius  Hare,  Mar- 
cus by  name,  a  Naval  man,  and  though  not  a  man  of  letters, 
full  of  sense  and  knowledge,  lives  here  in  a  beautiful  place, 
with  a  most  agreeable  and  excellent  wife,  a  daughter  of 
Lord  Stanley  of  Alderley.  I  had  hardly  seen  them  before  ; 
but  they  are  fraternizing  with  me,  in  a  much  better  than 
the  Jacobin  fashion ;  and  one  only  feels  ashamed  at  the 
enormity  of  some  people's  good  nature.  I  am  in  a  little 
rural  sort  of  lodging  ;  and  as  comfortable  as  a  solitary 
oyster  can  expect  to  be.' — 

December  5th,  (^To  C.  Barton'). — '  This  place  is  ex- 
tremely small,  much  more  so  than  Falmouth  even ;  but 
pretty  cheerful,  and  very  mild  in  climate.  There  are  a 
great  many  villas  in  and  about  the  little  Town,  having 
three  or  four  reception-rooms,  eight  or  ten  bed-rooms ;  and 
costing  about  fifteen  hundred  or  two  thousand  pounds  each, 
and  occupied  by  persons  spending  a  thousand  or  more 
pounds  a-year.  If  the  Country  would  acknowledge  my 
merits  by  the  gift  of  one  of  these,  I  could  prevail  on  myself 
to  come  and  live  here  ;  which  would  be  the  best  move  for 
my  health  I  could  make  in  England  ;  but,  in  the  absence 
23=* 


270  JOHN    STERLING. 

of  any  such  expression  of  public  feeling,  it  "would  come 
rather  dear.' — 

December  22d  (^To  Mrs.  Fox  agahi). — '  By  the  way, 
did  you  ever  read  a  Novel  ?  If  you  ever  mean  to  do  so 
hereafter,  let  it  be  Miss  Martineau's  Deerbrook.  It  is 
really  very  striking  ;  and  parts  of  it  are  very  true  and  very 
beautiful.  It  is  not  so  true,  or  so  thoroughly  clear  and 
harmonious,  among  delineations  of  English  middle-class 
gentility,  as  Miss  Austin's  books,  especially  as  Pride  and 
Prejudice,  -which  I  think  exquisite  ;  but  it  is  worth  reading. 
TJie  Hour  and  the  3Ian  is  eloquent,  but  an  absurd  exagger- 
ation.— I  hold  out  so  valorously  against  this  Scandinavian 
weather,  that  I  deserve  to  be  ranked  with  Odin  and  Thor, 
and  fancy  I  may  go  to  live  at  Clifton  or  Drontheim.  Have 
you  had  the  same  icy  desolation  as  prevails  here  ?  ' 

December  28th  (^To  W.  Conyngham,  Esq.'). — '  Looking 
back  to  him,'  (a  deceased  Uncle,  father  of  his  correspon- 
dent), '  as  I  now  very  often  do,  I  feel  strongly,  what  the 
loss  of  other  friends  has  also  impressed  on  me,  how  much 
Death  deepens  our  aifection  ;  and  sharpens  our  regret  for 
whatever  has  been  even  slightly  amiss  in  our  conduct 
towards  those  who  are  gone.  What  trifles  then  swell  into 
painful  importance  ;  how  we  believe  that,  could  the  past  be 
recalled,  life  would  present  no  worthier,  happier  task,  than 
that  of  so  bearing  ourselves  towards  those  we  love,  that  we 
might  ever  after  find  nothing  but  melodious  tranquillity 
breathing  about  their  graves  !  Yet,  too  often,  I  feel  the 
difficulty  of  always  practicing  such  mild  wisdom  towards 
those  who  are  still  left  me. — You  will  wonder  less  at  my 
rambling  off  in  this  way,  when  I  tell  you  that  my  little 
lodging  is  close  to  a  picturesque  old  Church  and  Church- 


TWO    WINTERS.  271 

yard,  where,  every  day,  I  brush  past  a  tombstone,  record- 
ing that  an  Italian,  of  Manferrato,  has  buried  there  a  girl 
of  sixteen,  his  only  daughter :  "  L'unica  speranza  di  mia 
vitaJ^ — No  doubt,  as  you  say,  our  Mechanical  Age  is 
necessary  as  a  passage  to  something  better  ;  but,  at  least, 
do  not  let  us  go  back.' — 

At  the  New-year  time,  feeling  unusually  well,  he  returns 
to  Clifton.  His  plans,  of  course,  were  ever  fluctuating  ; 
his  movements  were  swift  and  uncertain.  Alas,  his  whole 
life,  especially  his  winter-life,  had  to  be  built  as  if  on  waver- 
ing drift-sand  ;  nothing  -certain  in  it,  except  if  possible  the 
'  two  or  three  hours  of  work '  snatched  from  the  general 
whirlpool  of  the  dubious  four-and-twenty  ! 

Clifton,  January  10th,  1841  {To  Dr.  Carlyle).—^  I 
stood  the  sharp  frost  at  Torquay  with  such  entire  impunity, 
that  at  last  I  took  courage,  and  resolved  to  return  home. 
I  have  been  here  a  week,  in  extreme  cold  ;  and  have  suf- 
fered not  at  all  ;  so  that  I  hope,  with  care  I  may  prosper  in 
spite  of  medical  prognostics, — if  you  permit  such  profane 
language.  I  am  even  able  to  work  a  good  deal ;  and  write 
for  some  hours  every  morning,  by  dint  of  getting  up  early, 
which  an  Arnott-stove  in  my  study  enables  me  to  do.' — 
But  at  Clifton  he  cannot  continue.  Again,  before  long, 
the  rude  weather  has  driven  hira  Southward ;  the  spring 
finds  him  in  his  former  haunts ;  doubtful  as  ever  what  to 
decide  upon  for  the  future  ;  but  tending  evidently  towards 
a  new  change  of  residence  for  household  and  self: 

Penzance,  April  l^th,  1841  {To  W.  Comjngliam, 
Esq.'). — '  My  little  Boy  and  I  have  been  wandering  about 
between  Torquay  and  this  place  ;  and  latterly  have  had  my 
Father  for  a  few  days  with  us, — he  left  us  yesterday.     In 


272 


JOHN    STERLING. 


all  probability  I  shall  endeavor  to  settle  either  at  Torquay, 
at  Falmouth,  or  here  ;  as  it  is  pretty  clear  that  I  cannot 
stand  the  sharp  air  of  Clifton,  and  still  less  the  London  east 
winds.  Penzance  is,  on  the  whole,  a  pleasant-looking, 
cheerful  place  ;  with  a  delightful  mildness  of  air,  and  a 
great  appearance  of  comfort  among  the  people  :  the  view 
of  Mount's  Bay  is  certainly  a  very  noble  one.  Torquay 
would  suit  the  health  of  my  Wife  and  Children  better ;  or 
else  I  should  be  glad  to  live  here  always,  London  and  its 
neighborhood  being  impracticable.' — Such  was  his  second 
wandering  winter  ;  enough  to  render  the  prospect  of  a  third 
at  CUfton  very  uninviting. 

With  the  Falmouth  friends,  young  and  old,  his  inter- 
course had  meanwhile  continued  cordial  and  frequent.  The 
omens  were  pointing  towards  that  region  as  his  next  place 
of  abode.  Accordingly,  in  few  weeks  hence,  in  the  June 
of  this  Summer  1841,  his  dubitations  and  inquirings  are 
again  ended  for  a  time  ;  he  has  fixed  upon  a  house  in  Fal- 
mouth, and  removed  thither  ;  bidding  Clifton,  and  the  re- 
gretful Clifton  friends,  a  kind  farewell.  This  was  the  fifth 
change  of  place  for  his  family  since  Bayswater ;  the  fifth, 
and  to  one  chief  member  of  it  the  last.  Mrs.  Sterling  had 
brought  him  a  new  child  in  October  last ;  and  went  hope- 
fully to  Falmouth,  dreading  other  than  Avhat  befell  there. 


FALMOUTH:    POEMS.  273 


CHAPTER    X. 


FALMOUTH  :    POEMS. 


At  Falmoutb,  as  usual,  he  was  soon  at  home  in  his  new  en- 
vironment ;  resumed  his  labors  ;  had  his  new  small  circle  of 
acquaintance,  the  ready  and  constant  centre  of  which  was 
the  Fox  family,  with  whom  he  lived  on  an  altogether  inti- 
mate, honored  and  beloved  footing  ;  realizing  his  best  antici- 
pations in  that  respect,  which  doubtless  were  among  his 
first  inducements  to  settle  in  this  new  place.  Open  cheery 
heights,  rather  bare  of  wood ;  fresh  Southwestern  breezes  ; 
a  brisk  laughing  sea,  swept  by  industrious  sails,  and  the 
nets  of  a  most  stalwart,  wholesome,  frank  and  interesting 
population :  the  clean  little  fishing,  trading  and  packet 
Town  ;  hanging  on  its  slope  towards  the  Eastern  sun,  close 
on  the  waters  of  its  basin  and  intricate  bay, — with  the 
miniature  Pendennis  Castle  seaward  on  the  right,  the  mini- 
ature St.  IMawes  landward  to  left,  and  the  mining  world 
and  the  farming  world  open  boundlessly  to  the  rear : — all 
this  made  a  pleasant  outlook  and  environment.  And  in  all 
this,  as  in  the  other  new  elements  of  his  position,  Sterling, 
open  beyond  most  men  to  the  worth  of  things  about  him, 
took  his  frank  share.  From  the  first,  he  had  liked  the 
general  aspect  of  the  population,  and  their  healthy,  lively 
ways ;  not  to  speak  of  the  special  friendships  he  had  formed 
there,  which  shed  a  charm  over  them  all.     '  Men  of  strong 


274  JOHN    STERLING. 

character,  clear  heads  and  genuine  goodness,'  writes  he, 
*  are  bj  no  means  wanting.'  And  long  after  :  '  The  com- 
mon people  here  dress  better  than  in  most  parts  of  Eng- 
land ;  and  on  Sundays,  if  the  weather  be  at  all  fine,  their 
appearance  is  very  pleasant.  One  sees  them  all  round  the 
Town,  especially  towards  Pendennis  Castle,  streaming  in  a 
succession  of  little  groups,  and  seeming  for  the  most  part 
really  and  quietly  happy.'  On  the  whole  he  reckoned 
himself  lucky  ;  and,  so  far  as  locality  went,  found  this  a 
handsome  shelter  for  the  next  two  years  of  his  hfe.  Two 
years,  and  not  without  an  interruption  ;  that  was  all.  Here 
we  have  no  continuing  city  ;  he  less  than  any  of  us !  One 
other  flight  for  shelter ;  and  then  it  is  ended,  and  he  has 
found  an  inexpugnable  refuge.  Let  us  trace  his  remote 
footsteps,  as  we  have  opportunity  : 

Falmouth,  June  ^Sth,  1841  QTo  Br.  Simmons,  Clifion'), 
— '  Newman  writes  to  me  that  he  is  gone  to  the  Rhine.  I 
wish  I  were  !  And  yet  the  only  "  wish  "  at  the  bottom  of 
my  heart,  is  to  be  able  to  work  vigorously  in  my  own  way 
any  where,  were  it  in  some  Circle  of  Dante's  Inferno.  This, 
however,  is  the  secret  of  my  soul,  which  I  disclose  only  to  a 
few,' 

Falmouth,  July  6th,  1841  (To  his  3Iother). — '  I  have  at 
last  my  own  study  made  comfortable  ;  the  carpet  being  now 
laid  down,  and  most  of  my  appurtenances  in  tolerable  order. 
By  and  by  I  shall,  unless  stopped  by  illness,  get  myself  to- 
gether, and  begin  living  an  orderly  life  and  doing  my  daily 
task.  I  have  swung  a  cot  in  my  dressing-room  ;  partly  as 
a  convenience  for  myself,  partly  as  a  sort  of  memorial  of 
my  poor  Uncle,  in  whose  cot  in  his  dressing-room  at  Lis- 
worney  I  remember  to  have  slept  when  a  child.     I  have 


FALMOUTH  :     POEMS.  275 

put  a  good  large  bookcase  in  my  drawing-room,  and  all  the 
rest  of  my  books  fit  very  well  into  the  study.' 

Same  day  (^To  ^Iijself). — '  No  books  have  come  in  my 
way  but  Emerson's,  which  I  value  full  as  much  as  you, 
though  as  yet  I  have  read  only  some  corners  of  it.  "We 
have  had  an  Election  here,  of  the  usual  stamp  ;  to  me  a 
droll  "  realized  Ideal,"  after  my  late  metrical  adventures 
in  that  line.  But  the  oddest  sign  of  the  Times  I  know,  is 
a  cheap  Translation  of  Strauss's  Lehen  Jesu,  now  publishing 
in  numbers,  and  said  to  be  circulating  far  and  wide.  What 
does, — or  rather  what  does  not, — this  portend  ?' 

With  the  Poem  called  The  Election,  here  alluded  to, 
which  had  been  more  than  once  revised  and  reconsidered, 
he  was  still  under  some  hesitations ;  but  at  last  had  well- 
nigh  resolved,  as  from  the  first  it  was  clear  he  would  do, 
on  publishing  it.  This  occupied  some  occasional  portion  of 
his  thoughts.  But  his  grand  private  affair,  I  believe,  was 
now  iStrafford ;  to  which,  or  to  its  adjuncts,  all  working 
hours  were  devoted.  Sterling's  notions  of  Tragedy  are 
high  enough.  This  is  what  he  writes  once,  in  reference  to 
his  own  task  in  these  weeks :  '  Few,  I  fancy,  know  how 
much  harder  it  is  to  write  a  Tragedy,  than  to  realize  or  be 
one.  Every  man  has  in  his  heart  and  lot,  if  he  pleases, 
and  too  many  whether  they  please  or  no,  all  the  Avoes  of 
(Edipus  and  Antigone.  But  it  takes  the  One,  the  Sopho- 
cles of  a  thousand  years,  to  utter  these  in  the  full  depth 
and  harmony  of  creative  song.  Curious,  by  the  way,  how 
that  Dramatic  Form  of  the  old  Greek,  with  only  some  su- 
perficial changes,  remains  a  law  not  only  for  the  stage,  but 
for  the  thoughts  of  all  Poets ;  and  what  a  charm  it  has 


276  JOHN    STERLING. 

even  for  the  reader  who  never  saw  a  theatre.     The  Greek 
Plajs  and  Shakspeare  have  interested  a  hundred  as  books, 
for  one  who  has  seen  their  writings  acted.     How  lightlj 
does  the  mere  clown,  the  idle  school-girl,  build  a  private 
theatre  in  the  fancy,  and  laugh  or  weep  with  Falstaff  and 
Macbeth ;  with  how  entire  an  oblivion  of  the  artificial  na- 
ture of  the  whole  contrivance,  which  thus  compels  them  to 
be   their  own   architects,   machinists,   scene-painters    and 
actors  !    In  fact,  the  artifice  succeeds, — becomes  grounded 
in  the  substance   of  the  soul :  and  every  one  loves  to  feel 
how  he  is  thus  brought  face  to  face  with  the  brave,  the 
fair,  the  woful  and  the  great  of  all  past  ages ;  looks  into 
their  eyes,  and  feels  the    beatings  of  their  hearts ;  and 
reads,  over  the  shoulder,  the  secret  written  tablets  of  the 
busiest  and  the  largest  brains ;  while  the  Juggler,  by  whose 
cunning  the  whole  strange  beautiful  absurdity  is  set  in  mo- 
tion, keeps  himself  hidden  ;  sings  loud  with  a  mouth  un- 
moving  as  that  of  a  statue,  and  makes  the  human  race 
cheat  itself  unanimously  and  delightfully  by  the  illusion 
that  he  preordains ;  while  as  an  obscure  Fate,  he  sits  in- 
visible, and  hardly  lets  his  being  be  divined  by  those  who 
cannot  flee  him.     The  Lyric  Art  is  childish,  and  the  Epic 
barbarous  compared  to  this.     But  of  the  true  and  perfect 
Drama  it  may  be  said,  as  of  even  higher  mysteries,  Who 
is  sufficient  for  these  things  ?' — On  this  Tragedy  of  Straf- 
ford, writing  it  and  ^gain  writing  it,  studying  for  it,  and 
bending  himself  with  his  whole  strength  to  do  his  best  on 
it,  he  expended  many  strenuous  months, — '  above  a  year  of 
his  life,'  as  he  computes,  in  all. 

For  the  rest,  what  Falmouth  has  to  give  him  he  is  will- 
ing to  take,  and  mingles  freely  in  it.     In  Hare's  Collec. 


FALMOUTH:    POEMS.  277 

tion  there  is  given  a  Lecture  which  he  read  in  Autumn 
1841  (Mr.  Hare  says  '1842,'  by  mistake),  to  a  certain 
Public  Institution  in  the  place, — of  which  more  anon  : — a 
piece  interesting  in  this,  if  not  much  in  any  other  respect. 
Doubtless  his  friends  the  Foxes  were  at  the  heart  of  that 
lecturing  enterprise,  and  had  urged  and  solicited  him. 
Something  like  proficiency  in  certain  branches  of  science, 
as  I  have  understood,  characterized  one  or  more  of  this 
estimable  family ;  love  of  knowledge,  taste  for  art,  wish  to 
consort  with  wisdom  and  wise  men,  were  the  tendencies  of 
all :  to  opulent  means  superadd  the  Quaker  beneficence, 
Quaker  purity  and  reverence,  there  is  a  circle  in  which 
wise  men  also  may  love  to  be.  Sterling  made  acquaintance" 
here  with  whatever  of  notable  in  worthy  persons  or  things 
might  be  afoot  in  those  parts ;  and  was  led  thereby,  now 
and  then  into  pleasant  reunions,  in  new  circles  of  activity, 
which  might  otherwise  have  continued  foreign  to  him.  The 
good  Calvert,  too,  was  now  here  ;  and  intended  to  remain  ; 
— which  he  mostly  did  henceforth,  lodging  in  Sterling's 
neighborhood,  so  long  as  lodging  in  this  world  was  per- 
mitted him.  Still  good  and  clear  and  cheerful ;  still  a 
lively  comrade,  within  doors  or  without, — a  diligent  rider 
always, — though  now  wearing  visibly  weaker,  and  less  able 
to  exert  himself. 

Among  those  accidental  Falmouth  reunions,  perhaps  the 
notablest  for  SterUng  occurred  in  this  his  first  season. 
There  is  in  Falmouth  an  Association  called  the  Cornwall 
Polytechnic  Society,  established  about  twenty  years  ago, 
and  supported  by  the  wealthy  people  of- the  Town  and 
neighborhood,  for  the  encouragement  of  the  Arts  in  that 
region  :  it  has  its  Library,  its  Museum,  some  kind  of  An- 
24 


278  JOHN    STERLING. 

nual  Exhibition  withal ;  gives  prizes,  publishes  reports  :  the 
main  patrons,  I  believe,  are  Sir  Charles  Lemon,  a  well- 
known  country  gentleman  of  those  parts,  and  the  Messrs. 
Fox.  To  this,  so  far  as  he  liked  to  go  in  it,  Sterling  was 
sure  to  be  introduced  and  solicited.  The  Polytechnic 
Meeting  of  1841  was  unusually  distinguished  ;  and  Sterling's 
part  in  it  formed  one  of  the  pleasant  occurrences  for  him  in 
Falmouth.  It  was  here  that,  among  other  profitable  as 
well  as  pleasant  things,  he  made  acquaintance  with  Pro- 
fessor Owen  (an  event  of  which  I  too  had  my  benefit  in 
due  time,  and  still  have)  :  the  bigger  assemblage  called 
British  Association,  which  met  at  Plymouth  this  year, 
having  now  just  finished  its  affairs  there,  Owen  and  other 
distinguished  persons  had  taken  Falmouth  in  their  route 
from  it.  Sterling's  account  of  his  Polytechnic  gala  still 
remains, — in  three  Letters  to  his  Father,  which  omitting 
the  extraneous  portions,  I  will  give  in  one, — as  a  piece 
worth  reading  among  those  still-life  pictures : 

'  To  Edward  Sterling,  Esq.,  Knightshridge,  London. 

'  Falmouth,  Aug.  10th,  1841. 

'  My  dear  Father, — I  was  not  well  for  a  day  or  two 
after  you  went ;  and  since,  I  have  been  busy  about  an  an- 
nual show  of  the  Polytechnic  Society  here,  in  which  my 
friends  take  much  interest,  and  for  which  I  have  been  act- 
ing as  one  of  the  judges  in  the  department  of  the  Fine 
Arts,  and  have  WTitten  a  little  Report  for  them.  As  I 
have  not  said  that  Falmouth  was  as  eminent  as  Athens  or 
Florence,  perhaps  the  Committee  will  not  adopt  my  state- 
ment.    But  if  they  do,  it  will  be  of  some  use  ;  for  I  have 


FALMOUTH :    POEMS.  279 

hinted,  as  delicately  as  possible,  that  people  should  not  paint 
historical  pictures  before  they  have  the  power  of  drawing  a 
decent  outline  of  a  pig  or  a  cabbage.  I  saw  Sir  Charles 
Lemon  yesterday,  who  was  kind  as  well  as  civil  in  his  man- 
ner ;  and  promises  to  be  a  pleasant  neighbor.  There  are 
several  of  the  British  Association  heroes  here  ;  but  not 
Whewell,  or  any  one  whom  I  know.' 

August  11th.— ^  At  the  Polytechnic  Meeting  here  we 
had  several  very  eminent  men ;  among  others,  Professor 
Owen,  said  to  be  the  first  of  comparative  anatomists,  and 
Connybeare,  the  geologist.  Both  of  these'  gave  evening 
Lectures  ;  and  after  Conybeare's,  at  which  I  happened  to 
be  present,  I  said  I  would,  if  they  chose,  make  some  re- 
marks on  the  Busts,  which  happened  to  be  standing  there, 
intended  for  prizes  in  the  department  of  the  Fine  Arts. 
They  agreed  gladly.  The  heads  were  Homer,  Pericles, 
Augustus,  Dante  and  Michael  Angelo.  I  got  into  the  box- 
like platform,  with  these  on  a  shelf  before  me  ;  and  began 
a  talk,  which  must  have  lasted  some  three-quarters  of  an 
hour ;  describing  partly  the  characters  and  circumstances 
of  the  men,  illustrated  by  anecdotes  and  compared  with 
their  physiognomies,  and  partly  the  several  styles  of  sculp- 
ture exhibited  in  the  Casts,  referring  these  to  what  I  con- 
sidered the  true  principles  of  the  Art.  The  subject  was 
one  that  interests  me,  and  I  got  on  in  famous  style  ;  and 
had  both  pit  and  galleries  all  applauding,  in  a  way  that  had 
no  precedent  during  any  other  part  of  the  meeting.  Cony- 
beare  paid  me  high  compliments ;  Owen  looked  much 
pleased, — an  honor  well  purchased  by  a  year's  hard  work  ; 
— and  every  body,  in  short,  seemed  delighted.  Susan  was 
not  there,  and  I  had  nothing  to  make  me  nervous  ;  so  that 


280  JOHN    BTEHLING. 

I  worked  away  freely,  and  got  vigorously  over  tlie  ground. 
After  so  many  years'  disuse  of  rhetoric,  it  was  a  pleasant 
surprise  to  myself  to  find  that  I  could  still  handle  the  old 
weapons  without  awkwardness.  More  by  good  luck  than 
good  guidance,  it  has  done  my  health  no  harm.  I  have 
been  at  Sir  Charles  Lemon's  though  only  to  pay  a  morning 
visit,  having  declined  or  stay  there  or  dine,  the  hours  not 
suiting  me.  They  were  very  civil.  The  person  I  saw 
most  of  was  his  sister,  Lady  Dunstanville  ;  a  pleasant,  Avell- 
informed  and  well-bred  woman.  He  seems  a  most  amiable, 
kindly  man,  of  fair  good  sense  and  cultivated  tastes, — I 
had  a  letter  today  from  my  Mother '  in  Scotland  ;  '  who 
says  she  sent  you  one  which  you  were  to  forward  me  ; 
which  I  hope  soon  to  have.' 

August  29th. — '  I  returned  yesterday  from  Carclew, 
Sir  C.  Lemon's  fine  place  about  five  miles  off;  where  I  had 
been  staying  a  couple  of  days,  with  apparently  the  hearti- 
est welcome.  Susan  was  asked ;  but  wanting  a  Governess, 
could  not  leave  home. 

'  Sir  Charles  is  a  widower  (his  Wife  was  sister  to  Lord 
Ilchester)  Avithout  children  ;  but  had  a  niece  staying  with 
him,  and  his  sister  Lady  Dunstanville,  a  pleasant  and  very 
civil  woman.  There  were  also  Mr.  Bunbury,  eldest  son 
of  Sir  Henry  Bunbury,  a  man  of  much  cultivation  and 
strong  talents  ;  Mr.  Fox  Talbot,  son  I  think  of  another  Il- 
chester lady,  and  brother  of  tJie  Talbot  of  Wales,  but  him- 
self a  man  of  large  fortune,  and  known  for  photogenic  and 
other  scientific  plana  of  extracting  sunbeams  from  cucum- 
bers. He  also  is  a  man  of  known  ability,  but  chiefly  em- 
ployed in  that  peculiar  department.  Item  Professors  Lloyd 
and  Owen :  the  former,  of  Dublin,  son  of  the  late  Provost,  I 


FALMOUTH  :    POEMS.  281 

had  seen  before  and  knew  ;  a  great  mathematician  and  op- 
tician, and  a  discoverer  in  those  matters  ;  with  a  clever 
little  Wife,  who  has  a  great  deal  of  knowledge,  quite  free 
from  pretension.  Owen  is  a  first-rate  comparative  anato- 
mist, they  say  the  greatest  since  Cuvier ;  lives  in  London, 
and  lectures  there.  On  the  whole  he  interested  me  more 
than  any  of  them, — by  an  apparent  force  and  downright- 
ness  of  mind,  combined  with  much  simplicity  and  frank- 
ness. 

'  Nothing  could  be  pleasanter  and  easier  than  the  habits 
of  life,  with  what  to  me  was  a  very  unusual  degree  of  lux- 
ury, though  probably  nothing  but  what  was  in  common  among 
people  of  large  fortune.  The  library  and  pictures  are 
nothing  extraordinary.  The  general  tone  of  good  nature, 
good  sense  and  quiet  freedom,  was  what  struck  me  most  ; 
and  I  think  besides  this  there  was  a  disposition  to  be  cordi- 
ally courteous  towards  me.' — 

'  I  took  Edward  a  ride  of  two  hours  yesterday  on  Cal- 
vert's pony,  and  he  is  improving  fast  in  horsemanship. 
The  school  appears  to  answer  very  well.  We  shall  have 
the  Governess  in  a  day  or  two,  which  will  be  a  great  satis- 
faction. Will  you  send  my  Mother  this  scribble  with  my 
love  ;  and  believe  me, — your  aflfectionate  son, 

'John  Sterling.' 

One  other  little  event  dwells  with  me,  out  of  those  Fal- 
mouth times,  exact  date  now  forgotten  ;  a  pleasant  little 
matter  in  which  Sterling,  and  principally  the  Misses  Fox, 
bright  cheery  young  creatures,  were  concerned ;  which, 
for  the  sake  of  its  human  interest,  is  worth  mention.  In  a 
certain  Cornish  mine,  said  the  Newspapers  duly  specifying 
24^ 


282  JOHN    STERLING. 

it,  two  miners  deep  down  in  the  shaft  were  engaged  putting 
in  a  shot  for  blasting :  they  had  completed  their  affair,  and 
were  about  to  give  the  signal  for  being  hoisted  up, — one  at 
a  time  was  all  their  coadjutor  at  the  top  could  manage,  and 
the  second  was  to  kindle  the  match,  and  then  mount  with 
all  speed.  Now  it  chanced  that  while  they  were  both  still 
below,  one  of  them  thought  the  match  too  long  ;  tried  to 
break  it  shorter,  took  a  couple  of  stones,  a  flat  and  a  sharp, 
to  cut  it  shorter  ;  did  cut  it  off  the  due  length,  but  horrible 
to  relate,  kindled  at  the  same  time,  and  both  were  still 
below !  Both  shouted  vehemently  to  the  coadjutor  at  the 
windlass,  both  sprang  at  the  basket ;  the  windlass  man 
could  not  move  it  with  them  both.  Here  was  a  moment 
for  poor  miner  Jack  and  miner  Will !  Instant  horrible 
death  hangs  over  both, — when  Will  generously  resigns 
himself:  "Go  aloft,  Jack,"  and  sits  down;  away;  "in 
one  minute  I  shall  be  in  Heaven  !  "  Jack  abounds  aloft, 
the  explosion  instantly  follows,  bruises  his  face  as  he  looks 
over  ;  he  is  safe  above  ground  :  and  poor  Will  ?  Descend- 
ing eagerly  they  find  Will  too,  as  if  by  miracle,  buried 
under  rocks  which  had  arched  themselves  over  him,  and 
little  injured:  he  too  is  brought  up  safe,  and  all  ends 
joyfully  says  the  newspapers. 

Such  a  piece  of  manful  promptitude,  and  salutary  human 
heroism,  was  worth  investigating.  It  was  investigated ; 
found  to  be  accurate  to  the  letter, — with  this  addition  and 
explanation,  that  Will,  an  honest,  ignorant  good  man, 
entirely  given  up  to  Methodism,  had  been  perfect  in  the 
"  faith  of  assurance,"  certain  that  he  should  get  to  Heaven 
if  he  died,  certain  that  Jack  would  not,  which  had  been  the 
ground  of  his  decision  in  that  great  moment ; — for  the  rest, 


FALMOUTH  :    POEMS.  283 

that  he  much  -wished  to  learn  reading  and  writing,  and 
find  some  way  of  life  above  ground  instead  of  below.  By 
aid  of  the  IMisses  Fox  and  the  rest  of  that  family,  a  sub- 
scription (modest  ^?i!!i-Hudson  testimonial)  was  raised  to 
this  Methodist  hero :  he  emerged  into  daylight  with  fifty 
pounds  in  his  pocket ;  did  str^uously  try,  for  certain 
months,  to  learn  reading  and  writing ;  found  he  could  not 
learn  those  arts  or  either  of  them ;  took  his  money  and 
bought  cows  with  it,  wedding  at  the  same  time  some  relig- 
ious likely  milk-maid ;  and  is,  last  time  I  heard  of  him,  a 
prosperous  modest  dairyman,  thankful  for  the  upper  light 
and  safety  from  the  wrath  to  come.  Sterling  had  some 
hand  in  this  afiair :  but,  as  I  said,  it  was  the  two  young 
ladies  of  the  family  that  mainly  did  it. 

In  the  end  of  1841,  after  many  hesitations  and  revisals, 
TJie  Election  came  out ;  a  tiny  Duodecimo  without  name 
attached  ;*  again  inquiring  of  the  public  what  its  suffrage 
was ;  again  to  little  purpose.  My  vote  had  never  been 
loud  for  this  step,  but  neither  was  it  quite  adverse  ;  and 
now,  in  reading  the  poor  little  Poem  over  again,  after  ten 
years  space,  I  find  it,  with  a  touching  mixture  of  pleasure 
and  repentance,  considerably  better  than  it  then  seemed  to 
me.  My  encouragement,  if  not  to  print  this  Poem,  yet  to 
proceed  with  Poetry,  since  there  was  such  a  resolution  for 
it,  might  have  been  a  Uttle  more  decided  ! 

This  is  a  small  Piece,  but  aims  at  containing  great 
things  ;  a  muUu7n  in  parvo  after  its  sort ;  and  is  executed 
here  and  there  with  undeniable  success.     The  style  is  free 

*  The  Election  :  a  Poem,  in  Seven  Books.     London,  Murray,  1841. 


284  JOHN    STERLING. 

and  flowing,  the  rhyme  dances  along  with  a  certain  joyful 
triumph;  every  thing  of  due  brevity  withal.  That  mixture 
of  mockery  on  the  surface,  which  finely  relieves  the  real 
earnestness  within,  and  flavors  even  what  is  not  very  earn- 
est and  might  even  be  insipid  otherwise,  is  not  ill  managed  : 
an  amalgam  difficult  to  e'fiect  well  in  writing  ;  nay  impossi- 
ble in  writing, — unless  it  stand  already  done  and  efiected, 
as  a  general  fact,  in  the  writer's  mind  and  character ; 
which  will  betoken  a  certain  ripeness  there. 

As  I  said,  great  things  are  intended  in  this  little  Piece  ; 
the  motto  itself  foreshadowing  them  : 

'  FlueUen.    Ancient  Pistol,  I  do  partly  understand  your^meaning. 
^Pistol.    Why  then  rejoice  therefor.' 

A  stupid  commonplace  English  Borough  has  lost  its  Mem- 
ber suddenly,  by  apoplexy  or  otherwise  ;  resolves,  in  the 
usual  explosive  temper  of  mind,  to  replace  him  by  one  of 
two  others  :  whereupon  strange  stirring  up  of  rival-attorney 
and  other  human  interests  and  catastrophes.  '  Frank 
Vane  '  (Sterling  himself,)  and  '  Peter  Mogg '  the  pattern 
English  blockhead  of  elections :  these  are  the  candidates. 
They  are,  of  course,  fierce  rival  attorneys  ;  electors  of  all 
creeds  and  complexions  to  be  canvassed ;  a  poor  stupid 
Borough  thrown  all  into  red  or  white  heat ;  into  blazing 
paroxysms  of  activity  and  enthusiasm,  which  render  the 
inner  life  of  it  (and  of  England  and  the  world  through  it) 
luminously  transparent,  so  to  speak ; — of  which  opportunity 
our  friend  and  his  '  Muse  '  take  dexterous  advantage,  to 
delineate  the  same.  His  pictures  are  uncommonly  good  ; 
brief,  joyous,  sometimes  conclusively  true  :  in  rigorously 
compressed  shape,  all  is  merry  freshness  and  exuberance  ; 


FALMOUTH:    POEMS.  285 

we  have  leafy  summer  embowering  red  bricks  and  small 
human  interests,  presented  as  in  glowing  miniature  ;  a 
mock-heroic  action  fitly  interwoven  ; — and  many  a  clear 
glance  is  carelessly  given  into  the  deepest  things  by  the 
way.  Very  happy  also  is  the  little  love-episode  ;  and  the 
absorption  of  all  the  interest  into  that,  on  the  part  of  Frank 
Vane  and  of  us,  when  once  this  gallant  Frank, — having 
fairly  from  his  barrelhead  stated  his  own  (and  John  Ster- 
ling's) views  on  the  aspects  of  the  world,  and  of  course 
having  quite  broken  down  with  his  attorney  and  his  public, 
— handsomely,  by  stratagem,  gallops  off  with  the  fair 
Anne  ;  and  leaves  free  field  to  Mogg,  free  field  to  the 
Hippopotamus  if  it  like.  This  portrait  of  Mogg  may  be 
considered  to  have  merit : 


'  Though  short  of  days,  how  large  the  mind  of  man ; 
A  godlike  force  enclosed  within  a  span  1 
To  climb  the  skies  we  spurn  our  nature's  clog, 
And  toil  as  Titans  to  elect  a  Mogg. 

'  And  who  was  Jlogg  V     0  Muse  !  the  man  declara 
How  excellent  his  worth,  his  parts  how  rare. 
A  younger  son,  he  learnt  in  Oxford's  halls 
The  spheral  harmonies  of  billiard-balls. 
Drank,  hunted,  drove,  and  hid  from  Virtue's  frown 
His  venial  follies  in  Decorum's  gown. 
Too  wise  to  doubt  on  insufficient  cause. 
He  signed  old  Cranmer's  lore  without  a  pause ; 
And  knew  that  logic's  cunning  rules  are  taught 
To  guard  out  creed,  and  not  invigorate  thought, — 
As  those  bronze  steeds  at  Venice,  kept  for  pride, 
Adorn  a  town  where  not  one  man  can  ride. 

'  From  Isis  sent  with  all  her  loud  acclaims, 
The  laws  he  studied  on  the  banks  of  Thames. 
Park,  race  and  play,  in  his  capacious  plan, 
Combined  with  Coke  to  form  the  finished  man, 
Until  the  wig's  ambrosial  influence  shed 
Its  last  full  glories  on  the  lawyer's  head. 


286  JOHN    STERLING. 

'  But  vain  are  mortal  schemes.    The  eldest  son 
At  Harrier  Hall  had  scarce  his  stud  begun, 
When  Death's  pale  courser  took  the  Squire  away 
To  lands  where  never  dawns  a  hunting-day  ; 
And  so,  while  Thomas  vanished  'mid  the  fog. 
Bright  rose  the  star  of  Peter  Mogg. '  * 


i 


"on" 


And  this  little  picture,  in  a  quite  opposite  way  :' 

i  Now,  in  her  chamber  all  alone,  the  maid 

Her  polished  limbs  and  shoulders  disarrayed  ; 

One  little  taper  gave  the  only  light, 

One  little  mirror  caught  so  dear  a  sight ; 

'Mid  hangings  dusk  and  shadows  wide  she  stood. 

Like  some  pale  Nymph  in  dark-leafed  solitude 

Of  rocks  and  gloom}*  waters  all  alone, 

Where  sunshine  scarcely  breaks  on  stump  or  stone 

To  scare  the  dreamy  vision.    Thus  did  she, 
A  star  in  deepest  night,  intent  but  free, 

Gleam  through  the  eyeless  darkness,  heeding  not 
Her  beauty's  praise,  but  musing  o'er  her  lot. 
'  Her  garments  one  by  one  she  laid  aside, 
And  then  her  knotted  hair's  long  locks  untied 
With  careless  hand,  and  down  her  cheeks  they  fell, 
And  o'er  her  maiden  bosom's  blue-veined  swell. 
The  right-hand  fingers  played  amidst  the  hair, 
And  with  her  reverie  wandered  here  and  there : 
The  other  hand  sustained  the  only  dress 
That  now  but  half  concealed  her  loveliness  ; 
And  pausing,  aimlessly  she  stood  and  thought, 
,In  virgin  beauty  by  no  fear  distraught.' 

Manifold,  and  beautiful  of  their  sort,  and  Anne's  musings, 
in  this  interesting  attitude,  in  the  summer  midnight,  in  the 
crisis  of  her  destiny  now  near  ; — at  last : 

'  But  Anne,  at  last  her  mute  devotions  o'er. 
Perceived  the  fact  she  had  forgot  before 
Of  her  too  shocking  nudity ;  and  shame 
Flushed  from  her  heart  o'er  all  the  snowy  frame : 

*  Pp.  7,  8. 


FALMOUTH;    POEMS.  287 

And,  struck  from  top  to  toe  with  burning  dread, 
She  blew  the  light  out,  and  escaped  to  bed.'  * 

— which  also  is  a  very  pretty  movement. 

It  must  be  owned  withal,  the  Piece  is  crude  in  parts,  and 
far  enough  from  perfect.  Our  good  painter  has  yet  several 
things  to  learn,  and  to  unlearn.  His  brush  is  not  always  of 
the  finest ;  and  dashes  about,  sometimes,  in  a  recognizably 
sprawling  way ;  but  it  hits  many  a  feature  with  decisive 
accuracy  and  felicity  ;  and  on  the  palette,  as  usual,  lie  the 
richest  colors.  A  grand  merit,  too,  is  the  brevity  of  every 
thing  ;  by  no  means  a  spontaneous,  or  quite  common  merit 
with  Sterling. 

This  new  poetic  Duodecimo,  as  the  last  had  done  and  as 
the  next  also  did,  met  with  little  or  no  recognition  from  the 
world :  which  was  not  very  inexcusable  on  the  world's  part ; 
though  many  a  poem  Avith  far  less  proof  of  merit  than  this 
offers,  has  run,  when  the  accidents  favored  it,  through  its 
tens  of  editions,  and  raised  the  writer  to  the  demigods  for  a 
year  or  two,  if  not  longer.     Such  as  it  is,  we  may  take  it 
as  marking,  in  its  small  way,  in  a  noticed  or  unnoticed 
manner,  a  new  height  arrived  at  by  Sterling  in  his  Poetic 
course  ;    and  almost  as  vindicating  the  determination  he 
had  formed  to  keep  climbing  by  that  method.     Poor  Poem, 
or  rather  Promise  of  a  Poem !    In  Sterling's  brave  struggle, 
this  little  Electio7i  is  the  highest  point  he  fairly  lived  to  see 
attained,   and   openly  demonstrated  in   print.      His  next 
public  adventure  in  this  kind  was  of  inferior  worth  ;  and  a 
third,  which  had  perhaps  intrinsically  gone  much  higher  than 
any  of  its  antecessors,  was  cut  off  as  a  fragment,  and  has 

*  Pp.  89-93. 


288  JOHN    STERLING. 

not  hitherto  been  published.     Steady  courage  is  needed  on 
the  Poetic  course,  as  on  all  courses ! — 

Shortly  after  this  Publication,  in  the  beginning  of  1842, 
poor  Calvert,  long  a  hopeless  sufferer,  was  delivered  by 
death  :  Sterling's  faithful  fellow  pilgrim  could  no  more 
attend  him  in  his  wayfarings  through  this  world.  The 
weary  and  heavyladen  man  had  borne  his  burden  well. 
Sterling  says  of  him  to  Hare  :  '  Since  I  wrote  last,  I  have 
lost  Calvert ;  the  man  with  whom,  of  all  others,  I  have 
been  during  late  years  the  most  intimate.  Simplicity, 
benevolence,  practical  good  sense  and  moral  earnestness 
were  his  great  unfailing  characteristics  ;  and  no  man,  I 
believe,  ever  possessed  them  more  entirely.  His  illness 
had  latterly  so  prostrated  him,  both  in  mind  and  body,  that 
those  who  most  loved  him  were  most  anxious  for  his 
departure.'  There  was  something  touching  in  this  exit ; 
in  the  quenching  of  so  kind  and  bright  a  little  life  under 
the  dark  billows  of  death.  To  me  he  left  a  curious  old 
Print  of  James  Naylor  the  Quaker,  which  I  still  affection- 
ately preserve. 

Sterling,  from  this  greater  distance,  came  perhaps  rather 
seldomer  to  London  ;  but  we  saw  him  still  at  moderate 
intervals  ;  and,  through  his  family  here  and  other  direct 
and  indirect  channels,  were  kept  in  lively  communication 
with  him.  Literature  was  still  his  constant  pursuit ;  and, 
with  encouragement  or  without,  Poetic  composition  his 
chosen  department  therein.  On  the  ill  success  of  The 
Election,  or  any  ill  success  with  the  world,  nobody  ever 
heard  him  utter  the  least  murmur ;  condolence  upon  that 


FALMOUTH  :    POEMS.  289 

or  any  such  subject  might  have  been  a  questionable  opera- 
tion, bj  no  means  called  for !  Nay  my  own  approval, 
higher  than  this  of  the  world,  had  been  languid,  by  no 
means  enthusiastic.  But  our  valiant  friend  took  all  quiet- 
ly ;  and  was  not  to  be  repulsed  from  his  Poetics  either 
by  the  world's  coldness  or  by  mine ;  he  labored  at  his 
Strafford ; — determined  to  labor,  in  all  ways,  till  he  felfc 
the  end  of  his  tether  in  this  direction. 

He  sometimes  spoke,  with  a  certain  zeal,  of  my  starting 
a  Periodical :  Why  not  lift  up  some  kind  of  war-flag  against 
the  obese  platitudes,  and  sickly  superstitious  aperies  and 
impostures  of  the  time  ?     But  I  had  to  answer,  "  Who  will 
join  it,  my  friend  ?"     He  seemed  to  say,  "  I,  for  one  ;" 
and  there  was  occasionally  a  transient  temptation  in  the 
thought,  but  transient  only.     No  fighting  regiment,  with 
the  smallest  attempt  towards  drill,  cooperation,  commissa- 
riat, or  the  like  unspeakable  advantages,  could  be  raised  in 
•Sterling's  time  or  mine  ;  which  truly,  to  honest  fighters,  is 
a  rather  grievous  want.     A  grievous,  but  not  quite  a  fatal 
one.     For,  failing  this,  failing  all  things  and  all  men,  there 
remains  the  solitary  battle  (and  were  it  by  the  poorest 
weapon,  the  tongue  only,  or  were  it  even  by  wise  absti- 
nence and  silence  and  without  any  weapon),  such  as  each 
man  for  himself  can  wage  while  he  has  life  :   an  indubitable 
and  infinitely  comfortable  fact  for  every  man  !     Said  battle 
shaped  itself  for  Sterling,  as  we  have  long   since  seen, 
chiefly  in  the  poetic  form,  in  the  singing  or  hymning  rather 
than  the  speaking  form  ;  and  in  that  he  was  cheerfully  as- 
siduous according  to  his  light.     The  unfortunate  Strafford 
is  far  on  towards  completion  ;  a  Coeur-de-Lion,  of  which  we 
shall  hear  farther,  '  Coeur-de-Lion,  greatly  the  best  of  all 
25 


290  JOHN    STERLING. 

his  Poems,'  unluckily  not  completed,  and  still  unpublished, 
already  hangs  in  the  wind. 

His  Letters  to  friends  continue  copious ;  and  he  has,  as 
always,  a  loyally  interested  eye  on  whatsoever  of  notable  is 
passing  in  the  world.  Especially  on  whatsoever  indicates 
to  him  the  spiritual  condition  of  the  world.  Of  '  Strauss,' 
in  English  or  in  German,  we  now  hear  nothing  more  ;  of 
Church  matters,  and  that  only  to  special  correspondents, 
less  and  less.  Strauss,  whom  he  used  to  mention,  had  in- 
terested him  only  as  a  sign  of  the  times  ;  in  which  sense 
alone  do  we  find,  for  a  year  or  two  back,  any  notice  of  the 
Church  or  its  affairs  by  Sterling  ;  and  at  last  even  this  as 
good  as  ceases  :  "  Adieu,  0  Church ;  thy  road  is  that 
way,  mine  is  this:  in  God's  name,  adieu!"  'What  we 
are  going  io,'  says  he  once,  '  is  abundantly  obscure  ;  but 
what  all  men  are  going  from,  is  very  plain.' — Sifted  out 
of  many  pages,  not  of  sufficient  interest,  here  are  one  or 
two  miscellaneous  sentences,  about  the  date  we  are  now 
.  arrived  at : 

Falmouth,  M  Kovemler,  1841  (^To  Br.  Simmoiis}. — 
'  Yesterday  was  my  Wedding-day  :  eleven  years  of  mar- 
riage ;  and  on  the  whole  my  verdict  is  clear  for  matrimony. 
I  solemnized  the  day  by  reading  John  Gilpin  to  the  chil- 
dren, who  with  their  Mother  are  all  pretty  well.'  *  *  * 
'  There  is  a  trick  of  sham  Elizabethan  writing  now  preva- 
lent, that  looks  plausible,  but  in  most  cases  means  nothing 
at  all.  Darley  has  real  (lyrical)  genius  ;  Taylor,  wonder- 
ful sense,  clearness  and  weight  of  purpose;  Tennyson  a 
rich  and  exquisite  fancy.  All  the  other  men  of  our  tiny 
generation  that  I  know  of  are,  in  Poetry,  either  feeble  or 


FALMOUTH  :    POEMS,  291 

fraudulent.  I  know  nothing  of  the  Reviewer  you  ask 
about. 

December  Wth  (^To  his  Mother). — '  I  have  seen  no  new 
books  ;  but  am  reading  your  last.  I  got  hold  of  the  two 
first  Numbers  of  the  Hoggarhj  Diamond  ;  and  read  them 
with  extreme  delight.  What  is  there  better  in  Fielding  or 
Goldsmith  ?  The  man  is  a  true  genius  ;  and,  with  quiet 
and  comfort,  might  produce  masterpieces  that  would  last  as 
long  as  any  we  have,  and  delight  millions  of  unborn  read- 
ers. There  is  more  truth  and  nature  in  one  of  these  pa- 
pers than  in  all  ■ 's  Novels  together.' — Thackeray,  al- 

■ways  a  close  friend  of  the  Sterling  house,  -will  observe  that 
this  is  dated  1841,  not  1851,  and  have  his  own  reflections 
on  the  matter ! 

December  Vlth  (^To  the  same). — 'I  am  not  much  sur- 
prised at  Lady 's  views  of  Coleridge's  little  book  on 

Inspiration.'' — '  Great  part  of  the  obscurity  of  the  Letters 
arises  from  his  anxiety  to  avoid  the  difficulties  and  absurdi- 
ties of  the  common  views,  and  his  panic  terror  of  saying 
any  thing  that  bishops  and  good  people  would  disapprove. 
He  paid  a  heavy  price,  viz.  all  his  own  candor  and  simplicity, 

in  hope  of  gaining  the  favor  of  persons  like  Lady ; 

and  you  see  what  his  reward  is  !  A  good  lesson  for  us 
all.' 

February  Isi,  1842  (^To  the  same). — '  English  Toryism 
has,  even  in  my  eyes,  about  as  much  to  say  for  itself  as  any 
other  form  of  doctrine  ;  but  Irish  Toryism  is  the  downright 
proclamation  of  brutal  injustice,  and  all  in  the  name  of 
God  and  the  Bible !  It  is  almost  enough  to  make  one  turn 
Mahometan,  but  for  fear  of  the  four  wives.' 

3Iarch  12th,  1842  (^To  his  Father).—'  *    *   Important 


292  JOHN    STERLING. 

to  me  as  these  matters  are,  it  almost  seems  as  if  there  was 
something  unfeeling  in  writing  of  them,  under  the  pressure 
of  such  news  as  ours  from  India.  If  the  Cabool  Troops 
have  perished,  England  has  not  received  such  a  blow  from 
an  enemy,  nor  any  thing  approaching  it,  since  Bucking- 
ham's Expedition  to  the  Isle  of  Rhe.  Walcheren  de- 
stroyed us  by  climate  ;  and  Corunna,  with  all  its  loss,  had 
much  of  glory.  But  here  we  are  dismally  injured  by  mere 
Barbarians,  in  a  War  on  our  part  shamefully  unjust  as  well 
as  foolish:  a  combination  of  disgrace  and  calamity  that 
would  have  shocked  Augustus  even  more  than  the  defeat 
of  Varus.  One  of  the  four  Officers  with  Macnaghten  was 
George  Lawrence,  a  brother-in-law  of  Nat  Barton  ;  a  dis- 
tinguished man,  and  the  father  of  five  totally  unprovided 
children.  He  is  a  prisoner,  if  not  since  murdered.  Mac- 
naghten I  do  not  pity  ;  he  was  the  prime  author  of  the 
whole  mad  War.  But  Burnes  ;  and  the  Women  ;  and  our 
regiments !     India,  however,  I  feel  sure,  is  safe.' 

So  roll  the  months  at  Falmouth  ;  such  is  the  ticking  of 
the  great  World-Horologe  as  heard  there  by  a  good  ear. 
'  I  willingly  add'  (so  ends  he,  once),  '  that  I  lately  found 
somewhere  this  fragment  of  an  Arab's  love-song :  "  0 
Ghalia  !  If  my  father  were  a  Jackass,  I  would  sell  hun  to 
purchase  Ghalia  !"  A  beautiful  parallel  to  the  Erench, 
"  Avec  cette  sauce  on  mangerait  son  pere.' 


>>  > 


NAPLES  :    POEMS.  293 


CHAPTER    XI. 


NAPLES:    POEMS. 


In  the  bleak  weather  of  this  spring  1842,  he  was  again 
abroad  for  a  little  while  ;  partly  from  necessity,  or  at  least 
utility ;  and  partly,  as  I  guess,  because  the  circumstances 
favored,  and  he  could  with  a  good  countenance  indulge  a 
little  wish  he  had  long  had.  In  the  Italian  Tour,  which 
ended  suddenly  by  Mrs.  Sterling's  illness  recalling  him, 
he  had  missed  Naples  ;  a  loss  which  he  always  thought  to 
be  considerable  ;  and  which,  from  time  to  time,  he  had 
formed  little  projects,  failures  hitherto,  for  supplying.  The 
rigors  of  spring  were  always  dangerous  to  him  in  England, 
and  it  Avas  always  of  advantage  to  get  out  of  them  :  and 
then  the  sight  of  Naples,  too ;  this,  always  a  thing  to  be 
done  some  day,  was  now  possible.  Enough,  with  the  real 
or  imaginary  hope  of  bettering  himself  in  health,  and  the 
certain  one  of  seeing  Naples,  and  catching  a  glance,  of 
Italy  again,  he  now  made  a  run  thither.  It  was  not  long 
after  Calvert's  death.  The  Tragedy  of  Strafford  lay 
finished  in  his  desk.  Several  things,  sad  and  bright,  were 
finished.  A  little  intermezzo  of  ramble  was  not  unadvisable. 
His  tour  by  water  and  by  land  was  brief  and  rapid 
enough  ;  hardly  above  two  months  in  all.  Of  which  the 
following  Letters  will,  with  some  abridgment,  give  us  what 
details  are  needful : 
25* 


294  JOHN    STERLING. 

*  To  Charles  Barton,  Esq.,  Leamington. 

'  Falmouth,  March  25th,  1842. 

*  My  dear  Charles, — My  attempts  to  shoot  you  flying 
with  my  paper  pellets  turned  out  very  ill.  I  hope  young 
ladies  succeed  better  when  they  happen  to  make  appoint- 
ments with  you.  Even  now,  I  hardly  know  whether  you 
have  received  a  Letter  I  wrote  on  Sunday  last,  and  ad- 
dressed to  The  Cavendish.  I  sent  it  thither  by  Susan's 
advice. 

'  In  this  missive, — happily  for  us  both,  it  did  not  contain 
a  hundred-pound  note  or  any  trifle  of  that  kind, — I  in- 
formed you  that  I  was  compelled  to  plan  an  expedition  to- 
wards the  South  Pole,  stopping,  however,  in  the  Mediter- 
ranean ;  and  that  I  designed  leaving  this  on  Monday  next 
for  Cadiz  or  Gibraltar,  and  then  going  on  to  Malta,  Avhence 
Italy  and  Sicily  would  be  accessible.     Of  course  your  com-, 
pany  would  be  a  great  pleasure,  if  it  were  possible  for  you 
to  join  me.     The  delay  in  hearing  from  you,  through  no 
fault  of  yours,  has  naturally  put  me  out  a  little  ;  but,  on  the 
whole,  my  plan  still  holds,  and  I  shall  leave  this  on  Monday 
for  Gibraltar,  where  the  Great  Liverpool  will  catch  me, 
and  carry  me  to  Malta.    The  Great  Liverpool  leaves  South- 
ampton on  the  1st  April,  and  Falmouth  on  the  2d  ;  and  will 
reach  Gibraltar  in  from  four  to  five  days. 

'  Now,  if  you  should  be  able  and  disposed  to  join  me, 
you  have  only  to  embark  in  that  sumptuous  teakettle,  and 
pick  me  up  under  the  guns  of  the  Rock.  We  could  then 
cruise  on  to  Malta,  Sicily,  Naples,  Rome,  &c.  a  discretion. 
It  is  just  possible,  though  extremely  improbable,  that  my 
steamer  of  Monday  (most  likely  the  Montrose)  may  not 


NAPLES  :    POEMS.  295 

reach  Gibraltar  so  soon  as  the  Liverpool.  If  so,  and  if 
you  should  actually  be  on  board,  you  must  stop  at  Gibral- 
tar. But  there  are  ninety-chances  to  one  against  this. 
Write  at  all  events  to  Susan,  to  let  her  know  "what  you 
propose. 

'  I  do  not  wait  till  the  Great  Liverpool  goes,  because  the 
object  for  me  is  to  get  into  a  warm  climate  as  soon  as  possi- 
ble.    I  am  decidedly  better. — Your  affectionate  Brother, 

*  John  Sterling.' 

.    Barton  did  not  go  with  him,  none  went ;  but  he  arrives 
safe,  and  not  hurt  in  health,  which  is  something. 

*  To  Mrs.  Sterling,  Knigldshridge,  London. 

'Malta,  April  14th,  1842, 

'  Dearest  Mother, — I  am  writing  to  Susan  through 
France,  by  tomorrow's  mail ;  and  will  also  send  you  a  line, 
instead  of  waiting  for  the  longer  English  conveyance. 

'  We  reached  this  the  day  before  yesterday,  in  the  even- 
ing ;  having  had  a  strong  breeze  against  us  for  a  day  or 
two  before  ;  which  made  me  extremely  uncomfortable, — 
and  indeed  my  headache  has  hardly  gone  yet.  From  about 
the  4th  to  the  9th  of  the  month,  we  had  beautiful  weather, 
and  I  was  happy  enough.  You  will  see  by  the  map  that 
the  straightest  line  from  Gibraltar  to  this  place  goes  close 
along  the  African  coast ;  which  accordingly  we  saw  with 
the  utmost  clearness  ;  and  found  it  generally  a  line  of 
mountains,  the  higher  peaks  and  ridges  covered  with  snow. 
We  went  close  in  to  Algiers ;  which  looks  strong,  but  en- 
tirely from  art.     The  town  lies  on  the  slope  of  a  straight 


296  JOHN    STERLING. 

coast ;  and  is  not  at  all  embayed,  though  there  is  some 
little  shelter  for  shipping  within  the  mole.  It  is  a  square 
patch  of  white  buildings  huddled  together  ;  fringed  with 
batteries  ;  and  commanded  by  large  forts  on  the  ridge 
above  :  a  most  uncomfortable-looking  place  ;  though,  no 
doubt,  there  are  cafes  and  billiard-rooms  and  a  theatre 
within, — for  the  French  like  to  have  their  Ilouris,  &c.  on 
this  side  of  Paradise,  if  possible. 

'  Our  party  of  fifty  people  (we  had  taken  some  on  board 
at  Gibraltar)  broke  upon  reaching  this  ;  never,  of  course, 
to  meet  again.  The  greater  part  do  not  proceed  to  Alex-, 
andria.  Considering  that  there  was  a  bundle  of  midship- 
men, ensigns,  &c.,  we  had  as  much  reason  among  us  as 
could  perhaps  be  looked  for  ;  and  from  several  I  gained  bits 
of  information  and  traits  of  character,  though  nothing  very 
remarkable.' 

'  I  have  established  myself  in  an  inn,  rather  than  go  to 
Lady  Louis's  ;*  not  feeling  quite  equal  to  company,  except 
in  moderate  doses.  I  have,  however,  seen  her  a  good  deal ; 
and  dine  there  to-day,  very  privately,  for  Sir  John  is  not 
quite  well,  and  they  will  have  no  guests.  The  place,  how- 
ever, is  full  of  official  banqueting,  for  various  unimportant 
reasons.  When  here  before,  I  was  in  much  distress  and 
anxiety,  on  my  way  from  Rome  ;  and  I  suppose  this  it  was 
that  prevented  it  making  the  same  impression  on  me  as 
now,  when  it  seems  really  the  stateliest  town  I  have  ever 
seen.  The  architecture  is  generally  of  a  corrupt  Roman 
kind  ;  with  something  of  the  varied  and  picturesque  look, 

*  Sister  of  Mrs.  Strachey  and  Mrs.  Buller :  Sir  John  Louis  was  now  in  a 
high  Naval  post  at  Malta. 


NAPLES:    POEMS.  297 

^hougli  much  more  massive,  of  our  Elizabethan  buildings. 
We  have  the  finest  English  summer  and  a  pellucid  sky.  *  *  * 

Your  aflfectionate, 

'  John  Sterling.* 

At  Naples  next,  for  three  weeks,  was  due  admiration  of 
the  sceneries  and  antic[uities,  Bay  and  Mountain,  by  no 
means  forgetting  Art  and  the  Museum :  '  to  Pozzuoli,  to 
Baise,  round  the  Promontory  of  Sorrento  ;' — above  all, 
'  twice  to  Pompeii,  where  the  elegance  and  classic  sim- 
plicity of  Ancient  Housekeeping  strikes  us  much  ;  and 
again  to  Piiestum,  where  '  the  Temple  of  Neptune  is  far 
the  noblest  building  I  have  ever  seen  ;  and  makes  both 
Greek  and  Revived  Roman  seem  quite  barbaric'  '  Lord 
Ponsonby  lodges  in  the  same  house  with  me  ; — but,  of 
course,  I  do  not  countenance  an  adherent  of  a  beaten 
Party ! '  * — Or  let  us  take  this  more  compendious  account, 
which  has  much  more  of  human  in  it,  from  an  onward 
stage,  ten  days  later  : 

*  To  Thomas  Carlyle,  Esq.,  Chelsea,  London. 

'Eome,  May  ISth,  1842. 

'  My  Dear  Carltle, — I  hope  I  wrote  to  you  before 
leaving  England,  to  tell  you  of  the  necessity  for  my  doing 
so.  Though  coming  to  Italy,  there  was  little  comfort  in 
the  prospect  of  being  divided  from  my  family,  and  pursuits 
which  grew  on  me  every  day.  However,  I  tried  to  make 
the  best  of  it,  and  have  gained  both  health  and  pleasure. 

*  Long  Letter  to  his  Father:  Naples,  May  3d,  1842. 


298  JOHN    STERLING. 

'  In  spite  of  scanty  communications  from  England  (owing 
to  the  uncertainty  of  my  position),  a  word  or  two  concern- 
ing you  and  your  dear  Wife  have  reached  me.  Lately  it 
has  often  occurred  to  me,  that  the  sight  of  the  Bay  of  Na- 
ples, of  the  beautiful  coast  from  that  to  this  place,  and  of 
Rome  itself,  all  bathed  in  summer  sunshine,  and  green  with 
spring  foliage,  would  be  some  consolation  to  her.  Pray 
give  her  my  love. 

'  I  have  been  two  days  here  ;  and  almost  the  first  thing  I 
did  was  to  visit  the  Protestant  burial-ground,  and  the  graves 
of  those  I  knew  when  here  before.  But  much  as,  being 
now  alone  here,  I  feel  the  diflference,  there  is  no  scene 
where  death  seems  so  little  dreadful  and  miserable  as  in 
the  lonelier  neighborhoods  of  this  old  place.  All  one's 
impressions,  however,  as  to  that  and  every  thing  else, 
appear  to  me  on  reflection  more  affected  than  I  had  for  a 
long  time  any  notion  of,  by  one's  own  isolation.  All  the 
feelings  and  activities  which  family,  friends  and  occupation 
commonly  engage,  are  turned,  here  in  one's  solitude,  with 
strange  force  into  the  channels  of  mere  observation  and 
contemplation  ;  and  the  objects  one  is  conversant  with  seem 
to  gain  a  tenfold  significance  from  the  abundance  of  spare 
interest  one  now  has  to  bestow  on  them.  This  explains  to 
me  a  good  deal  of  the  peculiar  effect  that  Italy  has  always 
had  on  me  ;  and  something  of  that  artistic  enthusiasm  which 
I  remember  you  used  to  think  so  singular  in  Goethe's 
Travels.  Barley,  who  is  as  much  a  brooding  hermit  in 
England  as  here,  felt  nothing  but  disappointment  from  a 
country  which  fills  me  with  childish  wonder  and  delight. 

'  Of  you  I  have  received  some  slight  notice  from  Mrs. 
Strachey  :  who  is  on  her  way  hither  ;  and  will  (she  writes} 


NAPLES:     POEMS.  299 

be  at  Florence  on  the  15th,  and  here  before  the  end  of  the 
month.  She  notices  having  received  a  letter  of  yours 
■which  had  pleased  her  much.  She  now  proposes  spending 
the  summer  at  Sorrento,  or  thereabouts  ;  and  if  mere  delight 
of  landscape  and  climate  were  enough,  Adam  and  Eve,  had 
their  courier  taken  them  to  that  region,  might  have  done 
•well  enough  without  Paradise, — and  not  been  tempted, 
either,  bj  any  Tree  of  Knowledge  ;  a  kind  that  does  not 
flourish  in  the  Two  Sicilies. 

'  The  ignorance  of  the  Neapolitans,  from  the  highest  to 
the  lowest,  is  very  eminent ;  and  excites  the  admiration  of 
all  the  rest  of  Italy.  In  the  great  building  containing  all 
the  Works  of  Art,  and  a  Library  of  150,000  volumes,  I 
asked  for  the  best  existing  Book  (a  German  one  published 
ten  years  ago),  on  the  Statues  in  that  very  Collection  ; 
and,  after  a  rabble  of  clerks  and  custodes,  got  up  to  a  dirty 
priest,  who  bowing  to  the  ground,  regretted  "  they  did  not 
possess  it,"  but  at  last  remembered  that  "  they  had  entered 
into  negotiations  on  the  subject,  which  as  yet  had  been  un- 
successful." The  favorite  device  on  the  Avails  of  Naples  is 
a  vermilion  Picture  of  a  Male  and  Female  Soul  respectively 
up  to  the  waist  (the  waist  of  a  sovV)  in  fire,  and  an  Angel 
above  each,  watering  the  sufferers  from  a  watering-pot. 
This  is  intended  to  gain  alms  for  Masses.  The  same  popu- 
lace sits  for  hours  on  the  Molo,  listening  to  rhapsodists  who 
recite  Ariosto.  I  have  seen  I  think,  five  of  them  all  within 
a  hundred  yards  of  each  other,  and  some  sets  of  fiddlers  to 
boot.  Yet  there  are  few  parts  of  the  Avorld  where  I  have 
seen  less  laughter  than  there.  The  Miracle  of  Januarius's 
Blood  is,  on  the  whole,  my  most  curious  experience.  The 
furious  entreaties,  shrieks  and  sobs,  of  a  set  of  old  women, 


800  JOHN    STERLING. 

yelling  till  the  Miracle  was  successfully  performed,  are 
things  never  to  be  forgotten. 

*  I  spent  three  weeks  in  this  most  glittering  of  countries, 
and  saw  most  of  the  usual  wonders,  the  Paestan  Temples 
being  to  me  much  the  most  valuable.  But  Pompeii  and  all 
that  it  has  yielded,  especially  the  Fresco  Paintings,  have 
also  an  infinite  interest.  When  one  considers  that  this  pro- 
digious series  of  beautiful  designs  supplied  the  place  of  our 
common  room-papers, — the  wealth  of  poetic  imagery  among 
the  Ancients,  and  the  corresponding  traditional  variety  and 
elegance  of  pictorial  treatment,  seem  equally  remarkable. 
The  Greek  and  Latin  Books  do  not  give  one  quite  so  fully 
this  sort  of  impression  ;  because  they  aiford  no  direct  meas- 
ure of  the  extent  of  their  own  diifusion.  But  these  are 
ornaments  from  the  smaller  class  of  decent  houses  in  a  little 
Country  Town ;  and  the  greater  number  of  them,  by  the 
slightness  of  the  execution,  show  very  clearly  that  they 
were  adapted  to  ordinary  taste,  and  done  by  mere  artizans. 
In  general  clearness,  symmetry  and  simplicity  of  feeUng,  I 
cannot  say  that,  on  the  whole,  the  works  of  Kaffaelle  equal 
them ;  though  of  course  he  has  endless  beauties  such  as  we 
could  not  find  unless  in  the  great  original  works  from  which 
these  sketches  at  Pompeii  were  taken.  Yet  with  all  my 
much  increased  reverence  for  the  Greeks,  it  seems  more 
plain  than  ever  that  they  had  hardly  any  thing  of  the  pecu- 
liar devotional  feeling  of  Christianity. 

'  Rome,  which  I  loved  before  above  all  the  earth,  now 
delights  me  more  than  ever ;  though,  at  this  moment,  there 
is  rain  falling  that  would  not  discredit  Oxford  Street.  The 
depth,  sincerity  and  splendor  that  there  once  was  in  the 
semi-paganism  of  the  Old  Catholics,  comes  out  in  St.  Peter's 


NAPLES:     POEMS.  301 

and  its  dependencies,  almost  as  grandly  as  does  Greek  and 
Roman  Art  in  the  Forum  and  the  Vatican  Galleries.  I 
Tvish  you  were  here  :  but,  at  all  events,  hope  to  see  you  and 
your  Wife  once  more  during  this  summer. — Yours, 

'  John  Sterling.' 

At  Paris,  where  he  stopped  a  day  and  night,  and  gener- 
ally through  his  whole  journey  from  Marseilles  to  Havre, 
one  thing  attended  him :  the  prevailing  epidemic  of  the 
place  and  year ;  now  gone,  and  nigh  forgotten,  as  other 
influenzas  are.  He  writes  to  his  Father  :  '  I  have  not  yet 
met  a  single  Frenchman,  who  could  give  me  any  rational 
explanation  tvhj  they  were  all  in  such  a  confounded  rage 
against  us.  Definite  causes  of  quarrel  a  statesman  may 
know  how  to  deal  with,  inasmuch  as  the  removal  of  them 
may  help  to  settle  the  dispute.  But  it  must  be  a  puzzling 
task  to  negotiate  about  instincts  ;  to  which  class,  as  it  seems 
to  me,  we  must  have  recourse  for  an  understanding  of  the 
present  abhorrence  which  every  body  on  the  other  side  of 
the  Channel  not  onlj'  feels,  but  makes  a  point  to  boast  of, 
against  the  name  of  Britain.  France  is  slowly  arming, 
especially  with  steam,  en  attendant  a  more  than  possible 
contest,  in  which  they  reckon  confidently  on  the  eager  co- 
operation of  the  Yankees  ;  as,  vice  versa,  an  American  told 
me  that  his  countrymen  do  on  that  of  France.     One  person 

at  Paris  (M. whom  you  know)  provoked  me  to  tell 

him  that  "  England  did  not  Avant  another  battle  of  Trafal- 
gar ;  but  if  France  did  she  might  compel  England  to 
gratify  her." ' — After  a  couple  of  j)leasant  and  profitable 
months,  he  was  safe  home  again  in  the  first  days  of  June  ; 
and  saw  Falmouth  not  under  gray  iron  skies,  and  whirls  of 
26 


302  JOHN    STERLING. 

IMarch  dust,  but  bright  with  summer  opulence  and  the  roses 
coming  out. 

It  was  what  I  call  his  '■fifth  peregrinitj  ;'  his  fifth  and 
last.  He  soon  afterwards  came  up  to  London ;  spent  a 
couple  of  weeks,  with  all  his  old  vivacity,  among  us  here. 
The  ^sculapian  oracles,  it  would  appear,  gave  altogether 
cheerful  prophecy  ;  the  highest  medical  authority,  '  ex- 
presses the  most  decided  opinion  that  I  have  gradually 
mended  for  some  years ;  and  in  truth  I  have  not,  for  six  or 
seven,  been  so  free  from  serious  symptoms  of  illness  as  at 
present.'  So  uncertain  are  all  oracles  ^sculapian  and 
other ! 

During  this  visit,  he  made  one  new  acquaintance  which 
he  much  valued  ;  drawn  thither,  as  I  guess,  by  the  wish  to 
take  counsel  about  Strafford.  He  writes  to  his  Clifton 
friend,  under  date,  July  1st,  1842 :  '  Lockhart,  of  the 
Qiiarterlii  Mevieiv,  I  made  my  first  oral  acquaintance  with  ; 
and  found  him  as  neat,  clear  and  cutting  a  brain  as  you 
would  expect ;  but  with  an  amount  of  knowledge,  good 
nature  and  liberal  anti-bigotry,  that  would  much  surprise 
many.  The  tone  of  his  children  towards  him  seemed  to 
me  decisive  of  his  real  kindness.  He  quite  agreed  with 
me  as  to  the  threatening  seriousness  of  our  present  social 
perplexities,  and  the  necessity  and  difficulty  of  doing  some- 
thing effectual  for  so  satisfying  the  manual  multitude  as  not 
to  overthrow  all  legal  security.' 

'  Of  other. persons  whom  I  saw  in  London,'  continues  he, 
*  there  are  several  that  would  much  interest  you, — though 
I  missed  Tennyson,  by  a  mere  chance.'  *  *  *  '  John  Mill 
has  completely  finished,  and  sent  to  the  bookseller,  his 
great  work  on  Logic  ;  the  labor  of  many  years  of  a  singu- 


NAPLES;    POEMS.  303 

larly  subtle,  patient  and  comprehensive  mind.  It  will  be 
our  chief  speculative  monument  of  this  age.  Mill  and  I 
could  not  meet  above  two  or  three  times ;  but  it  was  with 
the  openness  and  freshness  of  schoolboy  friends,  though  our 
friendship  only  dates  from  the  manhood  of  both.' 

He  himself  was  busier  than  ever ;  occupied  continually 
with  all  manner  of  Poetic  interests.  Coeur-de-Lion,  a  new 
and  more  elaborate  attempt  in  the  mock-heroic  or  comico- 
didactic  vein,  had  been  on  hand  for  some  time,  the  scope  of 
it  greatly  deepening  and  expanding  itself  since  it  first  took 
hold  of  him  ;  and  now,  soon  after  the  Naples  journey,  it  rose 
into  shape  on  the  wider  plan  ;  shaken  up  probably  by  this 
new  excitement,  and  indebted  to  Calabria,  Palermo  and  the 
Mediterranean  scenes  for  much  of  the  vesture  it  had.  With 
this,  which  opened  higher  hopes  for  him  than  any  of  his 
previous  efforts,  he  was  now  employing  all  his  time  and 
strength  ; — and  continued  to  do  so,  this  being  the  last  effort 
granted  him  among  us. 

Already,  for  some  months,  Strafford  lay  complete :  but 
how  to  get  it  from  the  stocks ;  in  what  method  to  launch  it  ? 
The  step  was  questionable.  Before  going  to  Italy  he  had 
sent  me  the  Manuscript ;  still  loyal  and  friendly ;  and 
willing  to  hear  the  worst  that  could  be  said  of  his  poetic 
enterprise.  I  had  to  afflict  him  again,  the  good  brave  soul, 
with  the  deliberate  report -that  I  could  tiot  accept  this 
Drama  as  his  Picture  of  the  Life  of  Strafford,  or  as  any 
Picture  of  that  strange  Fact.  To  which  he  answered,  with 
an  honest  manfulness,  in  a  tone  which  is  now  pathetic 
enough  to  me,  that  he  was  much  grieved  yet  much  obliged, 
and  uncertain  how  to  decide.  On  the  other  hand,  J\Ir. 
Hare  wrote,  warmly  eulogizing.    Lockhart  too  spoke  kindly, 


804  JOHN    STEELING. 

though  taking  some  exceptions.  It  was  a  questionable 
case.  On  the  whole,  Strafford  remained,  for  the  present, 
unlaunchcd  ;  and  Coeur-de-Lion  was  getting  its  first  timbers 
diligently  laid  down.  So  passed,  in  peaceable  seclusion,  in 
wholesome  employment  and  endeavor,  the  autumn  and 
winter  of  1842-3.  On  Christmas-day,  he  reports  to  his 
Mother  : 

'  I  wished  to  write  to  you  yesterday  ;  but  was  prevented 
by  the  important  business  of  preparing  a  Tree,  in  the  Ger- 
man fashion,  for  the  children.  This  project  answered  per- 
fectly, as  it  did  last  year ;  and  gave  them  the  greatest 
pleasure.  I  wish  you  and  my  Father  could  have  been  here 
to  see  their  merry  faces.  Johnny  was  in  the  thick  of  the 
fun,  and  much  happier  than  Lord  Anson  on  capturing  the 
galleon.  We  are  all  going  on  well  and  quietly,  but  with 
nothing  very  new  among  us.' — '  The  last  book  I  have  lighted 
on  is  Moffat's  Missionary  Labors  in  South  Africa ;  which 
is  worth  reading.  There  is  the  best  collection  of  lion  stories 
in  it  that  I  have  ever  seen.  But  the  man  is,  also,  really  a 
very  good  fellow  ;  and  fit  for  something  much  better  than 
most  lions  are.  He  is  very  ignorant,  and  mistaken  in  some 
things  ;  but  has  strong  sense  and  heart ;  and  his  Narrative 
adds  another  to  the  many  proofs  of  the  enormous  power  of 
Christianity  on  rude  minds.  Nothing  can  be  more  chaotic, 
that  is  human  at  all,  than  the  notions  of  these  poor  Blacks, 
even  after  what  is  called  their  conversion ;  but  the  effect 
is  produced.  They  do  adopt  pantaloons,  and  abandon  poly- 
gamy ;  and  I  suppose  will  soon  have  newspapers  and  literary 
soirees.' 


DISASTER  ON  DISASTER.  305 


CHAPTER    XII. 


DISASTER   ON   DISASTER. 


During  all  these  years  of  struggle  and  wayfaring,  his 
Father's  household  at  Knightsbridge  had  stood  healthful, 
happy,  mcreasing  in  wealth,  free  diligence,  solidity  and 
honest  prosperity  ;  a  fixed  sunny  islet,  towards  which,  in 
all  his  voyagings  and  overclouded  roamings,  he  could  look 
with  satisfaction,  as  to  an  ever-open  port  of  refuge. 

The  elder  Sterling,  after  many  battles,  had  reached  his 
field  of  conquest  in  these  years  ;  and  was  to  be  regarded  as 
a  victorious  man.  Wealth  suiScient,  increasing  not  dimin- 
ishing, had  rewarded  his  labors  in  the  Times,  which  were 
now  in  their  full  flower ;  he  had  influence  of  a  sort ;  went 
busily  among  busy  public  men ;  and  enjoyed,  in  the  ques- 
tionable form  attached  to  journalism  and  anonymity,  a  social 
consideration  and  position  which  were  abundantly  grati- 
fying to  him.  A  singular  figure  of  the  epoch  ;  and  when 
you  came  to  know  him,  which  it  was  easy  to  fail  of  doing 
if  you  had  not  eyes  and  candid  insight,  a  gallant,  truly 
gifted,  and  manful  figure,  of  his  kind.  We  saw  much  of 
him  in  this  house  ;  much  of  all  his  family  ;  and  had  grown 
to  love  them  all  right  well, — him  too,  though  that  was  the 
diflicult  part  of  the  feat.  For  in  his  Irish  way  he  played 
the  conjuror  very  much, — "  three  hundred  and  sixty-five 
26=* 


306  JOim    STERLING. 

opinions  in  the  year  upon  every  subject,"  as  a  wag  once 
said.  In  fact  his  talk,  ever  ingenious,  emphatic  and  spirited 
in  detail,  -was  much  defective  in  earnestness,  at  least  in 
clear  earnestness,  of  purport  and  outcome  ;  but  went  tum- 
bling as  if.ln  mere  welters  of  explosive  unreason  ;  a  volca"bo 
heaving  under  vague  deluges  of  scoriae,  ashes  and  impon- 
derous  pumice-stones,  you  could  not  say  in  what  direction, 
nor  well  whether  in  any.  Not  till  after  good  study  did 
you  see  the  deep  molten  lava-flood,  w^hich  simmered  steadily 
enough,  and  shewed  very  well  by  and  by  whither  it  was 
bound.  For  I  must  say  of  Edward  Sterling,  after  all  his 
daily  explosive  sophistries,  and  fallacies  of  talk,  he  had  a 
stubborn  instinctive  sense  of  what  was  manful,  strong  and 
worthy  ;  recognized,  with  quick  feeling,  the  charlatan  under 
his  solemnest  wig  ;  knew  as  clearly  as  any  man  a  pusillani- 
mous tailor  in  buckram,  an  ass  under  the  lion's  skin,  and 
did  with  his  whole  heart  despise  the  same. 

The  sudden  changes  of  doctrine  in  the  Times,  which 
failed  not  to  excite  loud  censure  and  indignant  amazement 
in  those  days,  were  first  intelligible  to  you  when  you  came 
to  interpret  them  as  his  changes.  These  sudden  whirls 
from  east  to  west  on  his  part,  and  total  changes  of  party 
and  articulate  opinion  at  a  day's  warning,  lay  in  the  nature 
of  the  man,  and  could  not  be  helped ;  products  of  his  fiery 
impatience,  of  the  combined  impetuosity  and  limitation  of 
an  intellect,  which  did  nevertheless  continually  gravitate 
towards  what  was  loyal,  true  and  right  on  all  manner  of 
subjects.  These,  as  I  define  them,  were  the  mere  scorige 
and  pumice  wreck  of  a  steady  central  lava-flood,  which  truly 
was  volcanic  and  explosive  to  a  strange  degree,  but  did 
rest  as  few  others  on  the  grand  fire-depths  of  the  world. 


DISASTER  ON  DISASTER.  307 

Thus,  if  he  stormed  along,  ten  thousand  strong,  in  the  time 
of  the  Reform  Bill,  indignantly  denouncing  Toryism  and  its 
ohsolete  insane  pretensions ;  and  then  if,  after  some  experi- 
ence of  Whig  management,  he  discerned  that  Wellington 
and  Peel,  by  whatever  name  entitled,  were  the  men  to  be 
depended  on  by  England, — there  lay  in  "all  this,  visible 
enough,  a  deeper  consistency  far  more  important  than  the 
superficial  one,  so  much  clamored  after   by  the   vulgar. 
Which  is  the  lion's-skin  ;  which  is  the  real  lion  ?  Let  a  man, 
if  he    is   prudent,  ascertain   that   before   speaking ; — but 
above  and  beyond  all  things,  let  him  ascertain  it,  and  stand 
valiantly  to  it  when  ascertained !    In  the  latter  essential 
part  of  the  operation  Edward  Sterling  was  honorably  suc- 
cessful   to   a   really   marked   degree  ;   in  the   former,  or 
prudential  part,  very  much  the  reverse,  as  his  history  in 
the  Journalistic  department  at  least,  was  continually  teach- 
ing him. 
,      An  amazingly    Impetuous,   hasty,   explosive   man,   this 
"  Captain  Whirlwind,"  as  I  used  to  call  him  ?    Great  sen- 
sibility lay  in  him,  too  ;    a  real  sympathy,  and  affectionate 
pity  and  softness,  which  he  had  an  over-tendency  to  express 
even  by  tears, — a  singular  sight  in  so  leonine  a  man.    Ene- 
mies called  them  maudlin  and  hypocritical,  these   tears  ; 
but  that  Avas  nowise  the  complete  account  of  them.    On  the 
whole,  there  did  conspicuously  lie  a  dash  of  ostentation,  a 
self-consciousness  apt  to  become  loud  and  braggart,  over  all 
he  said  and  did  and  felt :  this  was  the  alloy  of  the  man, 
and  you  had  to  be  thankful  for  the  abundant  gold  along 
with  it. 

Quizzing  enough  he  got  among  us  for  all  this,  and  for 
the  singular  cldaroscuro  manner  of  procedure,  like  that  of 


308  JOHN    STERLING. 

an  Archimagus  Cagllostro,  or  Kaiser  Joseph  Incognito, 
which  his  anonymous  known-unhnown  thunderings  in  the 
Times  necessitated  in  him  ;    and  much  we  laughed, — not 
without  explosive  counter-hanterings  on  his  part ; — but  in 
fine  one  could  not  do  without  him  ;  one  knew  him  at  heart 
for  a  right  brave  man.     "  By  Jove,  sir  !  "   thus  he  would 
swear  to  you,  with  radiant  face ;  sometimes,  not  often,  by  a 
deeper   oath.      With   persons  of  dignity,  especially  with 
women,  to   whom   he   Avas   always   very   gallant,  he   had 
courtly  delicate  manners,  verging  towards  the  wiredrawn 
and  elaborate  ;   on  common  occasions,  he  bloomed  out  at 
once  into  jolly  familiarity  of  the  gracefully  boisterous  kind, 
reminding  you  of  mess-rooms  and  old  Dublin  days.     His  off 
hand  mode  of  speech  was  always  precise,  emphatic,  ingeni- 
ous :    his  laugh  which  was  frequent  rather  than  otherwise, 
had  a  sincerity  of  banter,  but  no  real  depth  of  sense  for  the 
ludicrous  :  and  soon  ended,  if  it  grew  too  loud,  in  a  mere 
dissonant  scream.      He   was   broad,    well-built,   stout   of 
stature  ;   had  a  long  lowish  head,  sharp  gray  eyes,  with 
large  strong  aquiline  face  to  match  ;  and  walked,  or  sat,  in 
an  erect  decisive  manner.     A  remarkable  man ;  and  play- 
ing, especially  in  those  years  1830-40,  a  remarkable  part 
in  the  world. 

For  it  may  be  said,  the  emphatic,  big-voiced,  always 
influential  and  often  strongly  unreasonable  Times  News- 
paper, was  the  express  emblem  of  Edward  Sterhng  ;  he 
more  than  any  other  man  or  circumstance,  loas  the  Times 
Newspaper,  and  thundered  through  it  to  the  shaking  of  the 
spheres.  And  let  us  assert  withal  that  his  and  its  influ- 
ence, in  those  days,  was  not  ill  grounded  but  rather  well ; 
that  the  loud  manifold  unreason,  often  enough  vituperated 


DISASTER    OX    DISASTER.  309 

and  groaned  over,  was  of  the  surface  mostly ;  that  his  con- 
clusions, unreasonable,  partial,  hasty  as  they  might  at  first 
be,  gravitated  irresistably  towards  the  right :  in  virtue  of 
which  grand  quality  indeed,  the  root  of  all  good  insight  in 
man,  his  Times  oratory  found  acceptance,  and  influential 
audience,  amid  the  loud  whirl  of  an  England  itself  logically 
very  stupid,  and  wise  chiefly  by  instinct. 

England  listened  to  this  voice,  as  all  might  observe  ;  and 
to  one  who  knew  England  and  it,  the  result  Avas  not  quite 
a  strange  one,  and  was  honorable  rather  than  otherwise  to 
both  parties.  A  good  judge  of  men's  talents  has  been 
heard  to  say  of  Edward  Sterling  :  "  There  is  not  a  faculty 
of  improvising  equal  to  this  in  all  my  circle.  Sterling 
rushes  out  into  the  clubs,  into  London  society,  rolls  about 
all  day,  copiously  talking  modish  nonsense  or  sense,  and 
listening  to  the  like,  with  the  multifarious  miscellany  of 
men;  comes  home  at  night;  redacts  it  into  a  Times 
Leader, — and  is  found  to  have  hit  the  essential  purport  of 
the  world's  immeasurable  babblement  that  day,  with  an  ac- 
curacy beyond  all  other  men.  This  is  what  the  multifarious 
Babel  sound  did  mean  to  say  in  clear  words ;  this,  more 
nearly  than  any  thing  else.  Let  the  most  gifted  intellect, 
capable  of  writing  epics,  try  to  write  such  a  Leader  for  the 
Morning  Newspapers !  No  intellect  but  Edward  Sterling's 
can  do  it.  An  improvising  faculty  without  parallel  in  my 
experience." — In  this  'improvising  faculty,'  much  more 
nobly  developed,  as  well  as  in  other  faculties  and  qualities 
with  unexpectedly  new  and  improved  figure,  John  Sterling, 
to  the  accurate  observer,  shewed  himself  very  much  the 
son  of  Edward. 

Connected  with  this    matter,   a  remarkable    Note   has 


310  JOHN    STERLING. 

come  into  my  hands ;  honorable  to  the  man  I  am  writing 
of,  and  in  some  sort  to  another  higher  man ;  "which,  as  it 
may  now  (unhappily  for  us  all)  be  published  without  scru- 
ple, I  will  not  Avithhold  here.  The  support,  by  Edward 
Sterling  and  the  Times,  of  Sir  Robert  Peel's  first  Ministry, 
and  generally  of  Peel's  statesmanship,  was  a  conspicuous 
fact  in  its  day  ;  but  the  return  it  met  with  from  the  person 
chiefly  interested  may  be  considered  well  worth  recording. 
The  following  Letter,  after  meandering  through  I  know  not 
what  intricate  conduits,  and  consultations  of  the  Mysterious 
Entity  whose  address  it  bore,  came  to  Edward  Sterling  as 
the  real  flesh-and-blood  proprietor,  and  has  been  found 
among  his  papers.     It  is  marked  Private : 

'  (Private)  To  the  Editor  of  the  Times. 

Whitehall,  April  18th,  1835. 

'  Sir, — Having  this  day  delivered  into  the  hands  of  the 
King  the  Seals  of  Office,  I  can,  without  any  imputation  of 
an  interested  motive,  or  any  impediment  from  scrupulous 
feelings  of  delicacy,  express  my  deep  sense  of  the  powerful 
support  which  that  Government  over  which  I  had  the  honor 
to  preside  received  from  the   Times  Newspaper. 

'  If  I  do  not  offer  the  expressions  of  personal  gratitude, 
it  is  because  I  feel  that  such  expressions  would  do  injustice 
to  the  character  of  a  support  which  was  given  exclusively 
on  the  highest  and  most  independent  grounds  of  public 
principle.  I  can  say  this  with  perfect  truth,  as  I  am 
addressing  one  whose  person  even  is  unknown  to  me,  and 
who  during  my  tenure  of  Power  studiously  avoided  every 
species  of  intercourse  which  could  throw  a  suspicion  upon 


DISASTER  ON  DISASTER.  311 

the  motives  bj  which  he  Avas  actuated.  I  should,  however, 
be  doing  injustice  to  my  own  feelings,  if  I  were  to  retire 
from  Office  wiihout  one  word  of  acknowledgment ;  without 
at  least  assuring  you  of  the  admiration  Avith  which  I  wit- 
nessed, during  the  arduous  contest  in  which  I  was  engaged, 
the  daily  exhibition  of  that  extraordinary  ability  to  which  I 
was  indebted  for  a  support,  the  more  valuable  because  it 
was  an  impartial  and  discriminating  support. — I  have  the 
honor  to  be,  Sir, — Ever  your  most  obedient  and  faithful 
servant,  '  Robert  Peel.' 

To  which,  with  due  loftiness  and  diplomatic  gravity  and 
brevity,  there  is  Answer,  Draught  of  Answer  in  Edward 
Sterling's  hand,  from  the  Mysterious  Entity  so  honored,  in 
the  following  terms : 

'  To  the  Bight  Eon.  Sir  Robert  Peel  Bart.  ^e.  ^e.  ^-c. 

'  Sir, — It  gives  me  sincere  satisfaction  to  learn  from  the 
Letter  with  which  you  have  honored  me,  bearing  yester- 
day's date,  that  you  estimate  so  highly  the  efforts  which 
have  been  made  during  the  last  five  months  by  the  Times 
Newspaper,  to  support  the  cause  of  rational  and  wholesome 
Government  which  his  Majesty  had  entrusted  to  your  guid- 
ance ;  and  that  you  appreciate  fairly  the  disinterested 
motive,  of  regard  to  the  public  welfare,  and  to  that  alone, 
through  which  this  Journal  has  been  prompted  to  pursue  a 
policy  in  accordance  with  that  of  your  Administration.  It 
is,  permit  me  to  say,  by  such  motives  only,  that  the  Times, 
ever  since  I  have  known  it,  has  been  influenced,  whether  in 
defence  of  the  Government  of  the  day ,^  or  in  constitutional 


312  JOHN    STERLING. 

resistance  to  it ;  and  indeed  there  exist  no  other  motives  of 
action  for  a  Journalist,  compatible  either  with  the  safety  of 
the  press,  or  with  the  political  morality  of  the  great  bulk 
of  its  readers. — With  much  respect,  I  have  the  honor  to  be, 
Sir,  &c.  &c.  &c.  '  The  Editor  of  the  "  Times' 


J  > 


Of  this  Note,  I  do  not  think  there  was  the  least  whisper 
during  Edward  Sterling's  lifetime ;  which  fact  also  one 
likes  to  remember  of  him,  so  ostentatious  and  little  reticent 
a  man.  Eor  the  rest,  his  loyal  admiration  of  Sir  Robert 
Peel, — sanctioned,  and  as  it  were  almost  consecrated  to  his 
mind,  by  the  great  example  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington, 
whom  he  reverenced  always  with  true  hero-worship, — was  not 
a  journalistic  one,  but  a  most  intimate  authentic  feeling, 
sufficiently  apparent  in  the  very  heart  of  his  mind.  Among 
the  many  opinions  '  liable  to  three  hundred  and  sixty-five 
changes  in  the  course  of  the  year,'  this  in  reference  to  Peel 
and  Wellington  was  one  which  never  changed,  but  was  the 
same  all  days  and  hours.  To  which,  equally  genuine,  and 
coming  still  oftener  to  light  in  those  times,  there  might  one 
other  be  added,  one  and  hardly  more  :  fixed  contempt,  not 

A 

unmingled  with  detestation,  for  Daniel  O'Connell.  This 
latter  feeling,  we  used  often  laughingly  to  say,  was  his 
grand  political  principle,  the  one  firm  centre  where  all  else 
went  revolving.  But  internally  the  other  also  was  deep 
and  constant ;  and  indeed  these  were  properly  his  ttvo 
centres, — poles  of  the  same  axis,  negative  and  positive,  the 
one  presupposing  the  other. 

O'Connell  he  had  known  in  young  Dublin  days  ; — and 
surely  no  man  could  well  venerate  another  less !  It  was 
his  deliberate,  unalterable  opinion  of  the  then  Great  0,  that 


DISASTER  ON  DISASTER.  313 

good  would  never  come  of  him ;  that  only  mischief,  and 
this  in  huge  measure,  would  come.  That  however  shewy, 
and  adroit  in  rhetoric  and  management,  he  was  a  man  of 
incurably  commonplace  intellect,  and  of  no  character  but  a 
hollow,  blustery,  pusillanimous  and  unsound  one  ;  great 
only  in  maudlin  patriotisms,  in  speciosities,  astucities, — in 
the  miserable  gifts  for  becoming  Chief  Beynagogos,  Leader 
of  a  deep-sunk  Populace  towards  its  Lands  of  Promise  ; 
which  trade  in  any  age  or  country,  and  especially  in  the 
Ireland  of  this  age,  our  indignant  friend  regarded  (and 
with  reason)  as  an  extremely  ugly  one  for  a  man.  He  had 
himself  zealously  advocated  Catholic  Emancipation,  and 
was  not  without  his  Irish  patriotism,  very  different  from 
the  Orange  sort ;  but  the  '  Liberator'  was  not  admirable 
to  him,  and  grew  daily  less  so  to  an  extreme  degree. 
Truly,  his  scorn  of  the  said  Liberator,  now  riding  in  su- 
preme dominion  on  the  wings  of  blarney^  devil-ward  of  a 
surety,  with  the  Liberated  all  following  and  huzzaing ;  his 
fierce  gusts  of  wrath  and  abhorrence  over  him,  rose  occa- 
sionally almost  to  the  sublime.  We  laughed  often  at  these 
vehemences  : — and  they  were  not  wholly  laughable  ;  there 
was  something  very  serious,  and  very  true,  in  them !  This 
creed  of  Edward  Sterling's  would  not  now,  in  either  pole 
of  its  axis,  look  so  strange  as  it  then  did  in  many  quarters. 

During  those  ten  years  which  might  be  defined  as  the  .        f  « 
culminating  period  of  Edward   Sterling's  life,  his  house  at  '^"  ' 
South  Place,  Knightsbridge,  had  worn  a  gay  and  solid  as-      /t*^ 
pect,  as  if  built  at  last  on  the  high  table-land  of  sunshine 
and  success,  the  region  of  storms  and  dark  weather  now  all 
victoriously  traversed  and  lying  safe  below.     Health,  work, 
wages,  whatever  is  needful  to  a  man,  he  had,  in  rich  meas- 
27 


314  JOHN    STERLING. 

ure :  and  a  frank  stout  heart  to  guide  the  same  ;  lived  in 
such  style  as  pleased  him  ;  drove  his  own  chariot  up  and 
down  (himself  often  acting  as  Jehu,  and  reminding  you  a 
little  of  Times  thunder  even  in  driving  ;)  consorted,  after 
a  fashion,  with  the  powerful  of  the  world  ;  saw  in  due  vicis- 
situde a  miscellany  of  social  faces  round  him, — pleasant 
parties,  which  he  liked  well  enough  to  garnish  by  a  lord  ; 
"  Irish  lord,  if  no  better  might  be,"  as  the  banter  went. 
For  the  rest,  he  loved  men  of  worth  and  intellect,  and 
recognized  them  well  whatever  their  title  :  this  was  his 
own  patent  of  worth  which  Nature  had  given  him  ;  a  cen- 
tral light  in  the  man,  which  illuminated  into  a  kind  of 
beauty,  serious  or  humorous,  all  the  artificialities  he  had 
accumulated  on  the  surface  of  him.  So  rolled  his  days, 
not  quietly,  yet  prosperously,  in  manifold  commerce  with 
men.  At  one  in  the  morning,  when  all  had  vanished  into 
sleep,  his  lamp  was  kindled  in  his  library  ;  and  there, 
twice  or  thrice  a  week,  for  a  three  hours'  space,  he  launch- 
ed his  bolts,  which  next  morning  were  to  shake  the  high 
places  of  the  world. 

"^  John's  relation  to  his  Father,  when  one  saw  John  here, 
was  altogether  frank,  joyful  and  amiable :  he  ignored  the 
Times  thunder  for  most  part,  coldly  taking  the  Anonymous 
for  non-extant ;  spoke  of  it  floutingly,  if  he  spoke  at  all : 
indeed  a  pleasant  half-bantering  dialact  was  the  common 
one  between  Father  and  Son ;  and  they,  especially  with 
the  gentle,  simple-hearted,  just-minded  Mother  for  treble- 
voice  between  them,  made  a  very  pretty  glee  harmony 
together. 

So   had   it  lasted,   ever  since  poor  John's    voy agings 


DISASTER  ON  DISASTER.  315 

began  ;  his  Father's  house  standing  always  as  a  fixed 
sunny  islet,  with  safe  harbor  for  him.  So  it  could  not 
always  last.  This  sunny  islet  was  now  also  to  break  and 
go  down  :  so  many  firm  islets,  fixed  pillars  in  his  fluctu- 
ating world,  pillar  after  pillar,  were  to  break  and  go  down  ; 
till  swiftly  all,  so  to  speak,  were  sunk  in  the  dark  waters, 
and  he  with  them !  Our  little  History  is  now  hastening  to 
a  close. 

In  the  beginning  of  1843,  news  reached  us  that  Sterling 
had,  in  his  too  reckless  way,  encountered  a  dangerous 
accident :  maids,  in  the  room  where  he  was,  were  lifting  a 
heavy  table  ;  he,  seeing  them  in  difficulty,  had  snatched  at 
the  burden  ;  heaved  it  away, — but  broken  a  bloodvessel  by 
the  business ;  and  was  now,  after  extensive  hemorrhage, 
lying  dangerously  ill.  The  doctors  hoped  the  worst  was 
over ;  but  the  case  was  evidently  serious.  In  the  same 
days  too,  his  Mother  had  been  seized  here  by  some  painful 
disease,  which  from  its  continuance  grew  alarming.  Sad 
omens  for  Edward  Sterling,  who  by  this  time  had  as  good 
as  ceased  writing  or  working  in  the  Times,  having  comfort- 
ably winded  up  his  afiairs  there  ;  and  was  looking  forward 
to  a  freer  idle  life  befitting  his  advanced  years  henceforth. 
Fatal  eclipse  had  fallen  over  that  household  of  his  ;  never 
to  be  lifted  oflF  again  till  all  darkened  into  night. 

By  dint  of  watchful  nursing,  John  Sterling  got  on  foot 
once  more ;  but  his  Mother  did  not  recover,  quite  the 
contrary.  Her  case  too  grew  very  questionable.  Disease 
of  the  heart,  said  the  medical  men  at  last ;  not  immediately, 
not  perhaps  for  a  length  of  years,  dangerous  to  life,  said 
they  ;  but  without  hope  of  cure.     The  poor  lady  suffered 


316  JOHN    STERLING. 

much  ;    and  though  affecting  hope  always,  grew  weaker 
and  weaker.     John  ran  up  to  Town  in  March  ;  I  saw  him, 
on   the  morrow  or  next  day  after,  in  his  own  room  at 
Knightsbridge  :  he  had  caught  fresh  cold  over  night,  the 
servant  having  left  his  window  up,  but  I  was  charged  to 
say  nothing  of  it,  not  to  flutter  the  already  troubled  house  : 
he  was  going  home  again  that  very  day,  and  nothing  ill 
would  come  of  it.     We  understood  the  family  at  Falmouth, 
bis  Wife  being  now  near  her  confinement  again,  could  at 
any  rate  comport  with  no  long  absence.     He  was  cheerful, 
even  rudely  merry ;  himself  pale  and  ill,  his  poor  Mother's 
cough  audible  occasionally  through  the  wall.     Very  kind, 
too,  and  gracefully  affectionate  ;  but  I  observed  a  certain 
grimness  in  his  mood  of  mind,  and  under  his  light  laughter 
lay   something   unusual,   something   stern,   as   if  already 
dimmed  in  the  coming  shadows  of  Fate.     "  Yes,  yes,  you 
are  a  good  man  :    but  I  understand  they  mean  to  appoint 
you  to  Rhadamanthus's  post,  which  has  been  vacant  for 
some  time  ;  and  you  will  see  how  you  like  that !  "     This 
was  one  of  the  things  he  said  ;  a  strange  effulgence  of  wild 
drollery  flashing   through   the   ice   of  earnest    pain    and 
sorrow.     He  looked  paler  than  usual :    almost  for  the  first 
time,  I  had  myself  a  twinge  of  misgiving  as  to  his  own 
health ;  for  hitherto  I  had  been  used  to  blame  as  much  as 
pity  his  fits  of  dangerous  illness,  and  would  often  angrily 
remonstrate  with  him  that  he  might  have  excellent  health, 
would  he  but  take  reasonable  care  of  himself,  and  learn 
the  art  of  sitting  still.     Alas,  as  if  he  could  learn  it ;    as  if 
Nature  had  not  laid  her  ban  on  him  even  there,  and  said 
in  smiles  and  frowns  manifoldly,  "  No,  that  thou  shalt  not 
learn !  " 


DISASTER  ON  DISASTER.  317 

He  went  that  daij ;  he  never  saw  his  good  true  Mother 
more.  Very  shortly  afterwards,  in  spite  of  doctors' 
prophecies,  and  affectionate  illusions,  she  grew  alarmingly 
and  soon  hopelessly  worse.  Here  are  his  two  last  Letters 
to  her : 

*  To  Mrs.  Sterling^  KnigJitshridge,  London. 

'Falmouth,  April  8th,  1843. 

*  Dearest  Mother, — I  could  do  you  no  good,  but  it 
would  be  the  greatest  comfort  to  me  if  I  could  be  near 
you.  Nothing  would  detain  me  but  Susan's  condition.  I 
feel  that  until  her  confinement  is  over,  I  ought  to  remain 
here, — unless  you  wished  me  to  go  to  you  ;  in  which  case 
she  would  be  the  first  to  send  me  off.  Happily  she  is  doing 
as  well  as  possible,  and  seems  even  to  gain  strength  every 
day.     She  sends  her  love  to  you. 

'  The  children  are  all  doing  well.  I  rode  with  Edward 
to-day,  through  some  of  the  pleasant  lanes  in  the  neighbor- 
hood ;  and  was  dehghted,  as  I  have  often  been  at  the  same 
season,  to  see  the  primroses  under  every  hedge.  It  is 
pleasant  to  think  that  the  Maker  of  them  can  make  other 
flowers  for  the  gardens  of  his  other  mansions.  We  have 
here  a  softness  in  the  air,  a  smoothness  of  the  clouds,  and 
a  mild  sunshine,  that  combine  in  lovely  peace  with  the  first 
green  of  spring  and  the  mellow  whiteness  of  the  sails  upon 
the  quiet  sea.  The  whole  aspect  of  the  world  is  full  of  a 
quiet  harmony,  that  influences  even  one's  bodily  frame, 
and  seems  to  make  one's  very  limbs  aware  of  something 
Uving,  good  and  immortal  in  all  around  us.  Knowing  how 
you  suffer,  and  how  weak  you  are,  any  thing  is  a  blessing 
27* 


318  JOHN    STERLING. 

to  me  that  helps  me  to  rise  out  of  confusion  and  grief  into 
the  sense  of  God  and  joy.  I  could  not  indeed  but  feel  how 
much  happier  I  should  have  been,  this  morning,  had  you 
been  with  me,  and  delighting  as  you  would  have  done  in  all 
the  little  as  well  as  the  large  beauty  of  the  world.  But  it 
was  still  a  satisfaction  to  feel  how  much  I  owe  to  you  of  the 
power  of  perceiving  meaning,  reality  and  sweetness  in  all 
healthful  life.  And  thus  I  could  fancy  that  you  were  still 
near  me  ;  and  that  I  could  see  you,  as  I  have  so  often  seen 
you,  looking  with  earnest  eyes  at  wayside  flowers. 

'  I  would  rather  not  have  written  what  must  recall  your 
thoughts  to  your  present  sufferings  ;  but,  dear  Mother,  I 
wrote  only  what  I  felt ;  and  perhaps  you  would  rather  have 
it  so,  than  that  I  should  try  to  find  other  topics.  I  still 
hope  to  be  Avith  you  before  long.  Meanwhile  and  always, 
God  bless  you,  is  the  prayer  of — 

Your  affectionate  son, 

'  John  Sterling.' 

To  the  Same. 

"  Falmouth,  April  12th,  1843. 

'  Dearest  Mother, — I  have  just  received  my  Father's 
Letter  ;  which  gives  me  at  least  the  comfort  of  believing 
that  you  do  not  suffer  very  much  pain.  That  your  mind 
has  remained  so  clear  and  strong,  is  an  infinite  blessing. 

'  I  do  not  know  any  thing  in  the  world  that  would  make 
up  to  me  at  all  for  wanting  the  recollection  of  the  days  I 
spent  with  you  lately,  when  I  was  amazed  at  the  freshness 
and  life  of  all  your  thoughts.  It  brought  back  far-distant 
years,  in  the  strangest,  most  peaceful  way.     I  felt  myself 


DISASTER    ON    DISASTER.  319 

walking  with  you  in  Greenwich  Park,  and  on  the  sea-shore 
at  Sandgate  ;  almost  even  I  seemed  a  baby  with  you  bend- 
ing over  me.  Dear  Mother,  there  is  surely  something 
uniting  us  that  cannot  perish.  I  seem  so  sure  of  a  love 
which  shall  last  and  reunite  us,  that  even  the  remembrance, 
painful  as  that  is,  of  all  my  own  follies  and  ill  tempers, 
cannot  shake  this  faith.  When  I  think  of  you,  and  know 
how  you  feel  towards  me,  and  have  felt  for  every  moment 
of  almost  forty  years,  it  would  be  too  dark  to  believe  that 
we  shall  never  meet  again.  It  was  from  you  that  I  first 
learnt  to  think,  to  feel,  to  imagine,  to  believe ;  and  these 
powers,  which  connot  be  extinguished,  Avill  one  day  enter 
anew  into  communion  with  you.  I  have  bought  it  very 
dear  by  the  prospect  of  losing  you  in  this  world, — but 
since  you  have  been  so  ill,  every  thing  has  seemed  to  me 
holier,  loftier  and  more  lasting,  more  full  of  hope  and  final 

joy- 

*  It  would  be  a  very  great  happiness  to  see  you  once 
more  even  here ;  but  I  do  not  know  if  that  will  be  granted 
to  me.  But  for  Susan's  state,  I  should  not  hesitate  an 
instant ;  as  it  is,  my  duty  seems  to  be  to  remain,  and  I 
have  no  right  to  repine.  There  is  no  sacrifice  that  she 
would  not  make  for  me,  and  it  would  be  too  cruel  to  en- 
danger her  by  mere  anxiety  on  my  account.  Nothing  can 
exceed  her  sympathy  with  my  sorrow.  But  she  cannot 
know,  no  one  can,  the  recollections  of  all  you  have  been 
and  done  for  me  ;  which  now  are  the  most  sacred  and 
deepest,  as  well  as  most  beautiful  thoughts  that  abide  with 
me.  May  God  bless  you,  dearest  Mother.  It  is  much  to 
believe  that  He  feels  for  you  all  that  you  have  ever  felt  for 
your  children. 

'  John  Sterling.' 


320  JOHN    STERLING. 

A  day  or  two  after  this,  '  on  Good  Friday,  1843,'  liis 
Wife  got  happily  through  her  confinement,  bringing  him, 
he  Avrites,  '  a  stout  iittle  girl,  who  and  the  Mother  are 
doing  as  well  as  possible.'  The  little  girl  still  lives  and 
does  well  ;  but  for  the  Mother  there  was  another  lot.  Till 
the  Monday  following  she  too  did  altogether  Avell,  he  affec- 
tionately watching  her;  but  in  the  course  of  that  day, 
some  change  for  the  worse  was  noticed,  though  nothing  to 
alarm  either  the  doctors  or  him  ;  he  watched  by  her  bed- 
side all  night,  still  without  alarm  ;  but  sent  again  in  the 
morning,  Tuesday  morning,  for  the  doctors, — who  did  not 
seem  able  to  make  much  of  the  symptoms.  She  appeared 
weak  and  low,  but  made  no  particular  complaint.  The 
London  post  meanwhile  was  announced ;  Sterling  went 
into  another  room  to  learn  what  tidings  of  his  Mother  it 
brought  him.  Returning  speedily  with  a  face  which  in 
vain  strove  to  be  calm,  his  Wife  asked.  How  at  Knights- 
bridge  ?  "  My  Mother  is  dead,"  answered  Sterling ; 
"  died  on  Sunday :  she  is  gone." — "  Poor  old  man !  " 
murmured  the  other,  thinking  of  old  Edward  Sterling  now 
left  alone  in  the  world ;  and  these  were  her  own  last  words : 
in  two  hours  more  she  too  was  dead.  In  two  hours 
Mother  and  Wife  were  suddenly  both  snatched  away  from 
him. 

'  It  came  with  awful  suddenness ! '  writes  be  to  his 
Clifton  friend.  '  Still  for  a  short  time  I  had  my  Susan : 
but  I  soon  saw  that  the  medical  men  were  in  terror ;  and 
almost  within  half  an  hour  of  that  fatal  Knightsbridge  news, 
I  began  to  suspect  our  own  pressing  danger.  I  received 
her  last  breath  upon  my  lips.  Her  mind  was  much  sunk, 
and  her  perceptions  slow ;   but  a  few  minutes  before  the 


DISASTER  ON  DISASTER.  321 

last,  she  must  have  caught  the  idea  of  dissolution ;  and 
signed  that  I  should  kiss  her.  She  faltered  painfully  ; 
"  Yes  !  yes  !" — returned  with  fervency  the  pressure  of  my 
lips  ;  and  in  a  few  moments  her  eyes  began  to  fix,  her 
pulse  to  cease.'  She  too  is  gone  from  me  !  It  was  Tues- 
day morning,  April  18th,  1843.  His  Mother  had  died  on 
the  Sunday  before. 

He  had  loved  his  excellent  kind  Mother,  as  he  ought 
and  well  might :  in  that  good  heart,  in  all  the  wanderings 
of  his  own,  there  had  ever  been  a  shrine  of  warm  pity,  of 
mother's  love  and  blessed  soft  affections  for  him  ;  and  now 
it  was  closed  in  the  Eternities  forevermore.  His  poor  Life- 
partner  too,  his  other  self,  who  had  faithfully  attended  him 
so  long  in  all  his  pilgriraings,  cheerily  footing  the  heavy 
tortuous  ways  along  with  him,  can  follow  him  no  farther ; 
sinks  now  at  his  side  :  "  The  rest  of  your  pilgrimings  alone, 
0  Friend, — adieu,  adieu  !"  She  too  is  forever  hidden  from 
his  eyes ;  and  he  stands,  on  the  sudden,  very  solitary  amid 
the  tumult  of  fallen  and  falling  things.  *  My  little  baby 
girl  is  doing  well ;  poor  little  wreck  cast  upon  the  seabeach 
of  life.  My  children  require  me  tenfold  now.  What  I 
shall  do,  is  all  confusion  and  darkness.' 

The  younger  Mrs.  Sterling  was  a  true  good  woman ; 
loyal-hearted,  willing  to  do  well,  and  struggling  wonderfully 
to  do  it  amid  her  languors  and  infirmities ;  rescuing,  in 
many  ways,  with  beautiful  female  heroism  and  adroitness, 
what  of  fertility  their  uncertain,  wandering,  unfertile  way 
of  life  still  left  possible,  and  cheerily  making  the  most  of  it. 
A  genial,  pious  and  harmonious  fund  of  character  was  in 
her  ;    and    withal   an   indolent,   half  unconscious   force   of 


322  JOHN    STERLING. 

intellect,  and  justness  and  delicacy  of  perception,  -whicli  the 
casual  acquaintance  scarcely  gave  her  credit  for.  Sterling 
much  respected  her  decision  in  matters  literary ;  often 
altering  and  modifying  where  her  feeling  clearly  -went 
against  him  ;  and  in  verses  especially  trusting  to  her  ear, 
■which  was  excellent,  while  he  knew  his  own  to  be  worth 
little.  I  remember  her  melodious  rich  plaintive  tone  of 
voice  ;  and  an  exceedingly  bright  smile  which  she  some- 
times had,  ejffulgent  with  sunny  gayety  and  true  humor, 
among  other  fine  qualities. 

Sterling  has  lost  much  in  these  two  hours ;  how  much 
that  has  long  been  can  never  again  be  for  him  !  Twice  in 
one  morning,  so  to  speak,  has  a  mighty  wind  smitten  the 
corners  of  his  house  ;  and  much  lies  in  dismal  ruins  round 
him. 


ventnor:   death.  823 


CHAPTER    XIII 


ventnor:  death. 


In  this  sudden  avalanche  of  sorrows  Sterling,  weak  and 
worn  as  we  have  seen,  bore  up  manfully,  and  with  pious 
valor  fronted  what  had  come  upon  him.  He  was  not  a  man 
to  yield  to  vain  wailings,  or  make  repinings  at  the  unalter- 
able :  here  was  enough  to  be  long  mourned  over ;  but  here, 
for  the  moment,  was  very  much  imperatively  requiring  to 
be  done.  That  evening,  he  called  his  children  round  him  ; 
spoke  words  of  religious  admonition  and  affection  to  them : 
said,  "  He  must  now  be  a  Mother  as  well  as  Father  to 
them."  On  the  evening  of  the  funeral,  writes  Mr.  Hare, 
he  bade  them  good  night,  adding  these  words,  "  If  I  am 
taken  from  you,  God  will  take  care  of  you."  He  had  six 
children  left  to  his  charge,  two  of  them  infants :  and  a  dark 
outlook  ahead  of  them  and  him.  The  good  Mrs.  Maurice, 
the  children's  young  Aunt,  present  at  this  time  and  often 
afterwards  till  all  ended,  was  a  great  consolation. 

Falmouth,  it  may  be  supposed,  had  grown  a  sorrowful 
place  to  him,  peopled  with  haggard  memories  in  his  weak 
state  ;  and  now  again,  as  had  been  usual  with  him,  change 
of  place  suggested  itself  as  a  desirable  alleviation  ; — and 
indeed,  in  some  sort,  as  a  necessity.  He  has  '  friends 
here,'  he  admits  to  himself,  '  whose  kindness  is  beyond  all 


324  JOHN    STERLING. 

price,  all  description  ;'  but  his  little  children,  if  any  thing 
befell  him,  have  no  relative  within  two  hundred  miles.  He 
is  now  sole  watcher  over  them  ;  and  his  very  life  is  so  pre- 
carious ;  nay,  at  any  rate,  it  would  appear,  he  has  to  leave 
Falmouth  every  spring,  or  run  the  hazard  of  worse.  Once" 
more,  what  is  to  be  done  ?  Once  more, — and  now,  as  it 
turned  out,  for  the  last  time. 

A  still  gentler  climate,  greater  proximity  to  London 
where  his  brother  Anthony  now  was  and  most  of  his  friends 
and  interests  were  :  these  considerations  recommended 
Ventnor,  in  the  beautiful  Southeastern  corner  of  the  Isle 
of  Wight ;  where  on  inquiry  an  eligible  house  was  found 
for  sale.  The  house  and  its  surrounding  piece  of  ground, 
improvable  both,  were  purchased  ;  he  removed  thither  in 
June  of  this  year  1843  ;  and  set  about  improvements  and 
adjustments  on  a  frank  scale.  By  the  decease  of  his 
Mother,  he  had  become  rich  in  money  ;  his  share  of  the 
West-India  properties  having  now  fallen  to  him,  which 
added  to  his  former  incomings,  made  a  revenue  he  could 
consider  ample  and  abundant.  Falmouth  friends  looked 
lovingly  towards  him,  promising  occasional  visits  ;  old  Herst- 
monceux,  which  he  often  spoke  of  revisiting  but  never  did, 
was  not  far  off;  and  London  with  all  its  resources  and  re- 
membrances was  now  again  accessible.  He  resumed  his 
work  ;  and  had  hopes  of  again  achieving  something. 

The  Poem  of  Coeur-de-Lion  has  been  already  mentioned, 
and  the  wider  form  and  aim  it  had  got  since  he  first  took  it 
in  hand.  It  was  above  a  year  before  the  date  of  these 
tragedies  and  changes,  that  he  had  sent  me  a  Canto,  or 
couple  of  Cantos,  of  Coeur-de-Lion  ;  loyally  again  demand- 
ing my  opinion,  harsh  as  it  had  often  been  on  that  side. 


ventnor:   deatu.  325 

This  time  I  felt  right  glad  to  ans^Yer  iu  another  tone  : 
"  That  here  was  real  felicity  and  ingenuity,  on  the  pre- 
scrihed  conditions  ;  a  decisively  rhythmic  quality  in  this 
composition  ;  thought  and  phraseology  actually  dancing, 
after  a  sort.  What  the  plan  and  scope  of  the  Work  might 
be,  he  had  not  said,  and  I  could  not  judge ;  but  here  -was 
a  light  opulence  of  airy  fancy,  picturesque  conception,  vig- 
orous delineation,  all  marching  on  as  with  cheerful  drum 
and  fife,  if  Avithout  more  rich  and  complicated  forms  of 
melody  :  if  a  man  would  write  in  metre,  this  sure  enough 
was  the  way  to  try  doing  it."  For  such  encouragement, 
from  that  stinted  quarter.  Sterling,  I  doubt  not,  was  very 
thankful ;  and  of  course  it  might  cooperate  with  the  inspi- 
rations from  his  Naples  Tour  to  further  him  a  little  in  this 
his  now  chief  task  in  the  way  of  Poetry  ;  a  thought  Avhich, 
among  my  many  almost  pathetic  remembrances  of  contra- 
dictions to  his  Poetic  tendency,  is  pleasant  for  me. 

But  on  the  whole,  it  was  no  matter.  With  or  without 
encouragement,  he  was  resolute  to  persevere  in  Poetry,  and 
did  persevere.  When  I  think  now  of  his  modest,  quiet 
steadfastness  in  this  business  of  Poetry  ;  how,  in  spite  of 
friend  and  foe,  he  silently  persisted,  without  wavering,  in 
the  form  of  utterance  he  had  chosen  for  himself;  and  to 
what  length  he  carried  it,  and  vindicated  himself  against  us 
all, — his  character  comes  out  in  a  new  light  to  me,  with 
more  of  a  certain  central  inflexibility  and  noble  silent  reso- 
lution than  I  had  elsewhere  noticed  in  it.  This  summer, 
moved  by  natural  feelings,  which  were  sanctioned,  too,  and 
in  a  sort  sanctified  to  him,  by  the  remembered  counsel  of 
his  late  AVife,  he  printed  the  Tragedy  of  Strafford.  But 
there  was  in  the  public  no  contradiction  to  the  hard  vote  I 
28 


■326  JOHN    STERLING. 

had  given  about  it ;  the  httle  Book  fell  dead-born  ;  and 
Sterling  had  again  to  take  his  disappointment : — which  it 
must  be  owned  he  cheerfully  did ;  and,  resolute  to  try  it 
again  and  ever  again,  went  along  with  his  Coeur-de-Lion, 
as  if  the  public  had  been  all  with  him.  An  honorable 
capacity  to  stand  single  against  the  whole  world ;  such  as 
all  men  need,  from  time  to  time  !  After  all,  who  knows 
whether,  in  his  overclouded,  broken,  flighty  way  of  life, 
incapable  of  long  hard  drudgery,  and  so  shut  out  from  the 
solid  forms  of  Prose,  this  Poetic  Form,  which  he  could  well 
learn  as  he  could  all  forms,  was  not  the  suitablest  for  him  ? 

This  work  of  Coeur-de-Lion  he  prosecuted  steadfastly  in 
his  new  home  ;  and  indeed  employed  on  it  henceforth  all 
the  available  days  that  were  left  him  in  this  world.  As 
was  already  said,  he  did  not  live  to  complete  it ;  but  some 
eight  Cantos,  three  or  four  of  which  I  know  to  possess  high 
worth,  were  finished,  before  Death  intervened,  and  there 
he  had  to  leave  it.  Perhaps  it  will  yet  be  given  to  the 
public  ;  and  in  that  case  be  better  received  than  the  others 
were,  by  men  of  judgment ;  and  serve  to  put  Sterling's 
Poetic  pretensions  on  a  much  truer  footing.  I  can  say, 
that  to  readers  who  do  prefer  a  poetic  diet,  this  ought  to 
be  welcome  :  if  you  can  contrive  to  love  the  thing  which  is 
still  called  "  poetry"  in  these  days,  here  is  a  decidedly 
superior  article  in  that  kind, — richer  than  one  of  a  hundred 
that  you  smilingly  consume. 

In  this  same  month  of  June  1843,  while  the  house  at 
Yentnor  was  getting  ready.  Sterling  was  again  in  London 
for  a  few  days.  Of  course  at  Knightsbridge,  now  fallen 
under  such  sad  change,  many  private  matters  needed  to  be 
settled  by  his  Father  and  Brother  and  him.     Captain  An- 


ventnor:   death. 


327 


thony,  now  minded  to  remove  with  his  family  to  London 
and  quit  the  military  way  of  life,  had  agreed  to  purchase 
the  big  family  house,  which  he  still  occupies ;  the  old  man, 
now  rid  of  that  incumbrance,  retired  to  a  smaller  establish- 
ment of  his  own  ; — came  ultimately  to  be  Anthony's  guest, 
and  spent  his  last  days  so.  He  was  much  lamed  and  bro- 
ken, the  half  of  his  old  life  suddenly  torn  away  ; — and  other 
losses,  which  he  yet  knew  not  of,  lay  close  ahead  of  him. 
In  a  year  or  two,  the  rugged  old  man,  borne  down  by 
these  pressures,  quite  gave  way  ;  sank  into  paralytic  and 
other  infirmities  ;  and  was  released  from  life's  sorrows, 
under  his  son  Anthony's  roof,  in  the  fall  of  1847. — The 
house  in  Knightsbridge  was,  at  the  time  we  now  speak  of, 
empty  except  of  servants  ;  Anthony  having  returned  to 
Dublin,  I  suppose  to  conclude  his  affairs  there,  prior  to  re- 
moval.    John  lodged  in  a  Hotel. 

We  had  our  fair  share  of  his  company  in  this  visit,  as  in 
all  the  past  ones ;  but  the  intercourse,  I  recollect,  was  dim 
and  broken,  a  disastrous  shadow  hanging  over  it,  not  to  be 
cleared  away  by  effart.  Two  American  gentlemen,  ac- 
quaintances also  of  mine,  had  been  recommended  to  him, 
by  Emerson  most  likely :  one  morning  Sterling  appeared 
here  with  a  strenuous  proposal  that  we  should  come  to 
Knightsbridge,  and  dine  with  him  and  them.  Objections, 
general  dissuasions  were  not  wanting :  The  empty  dark 
house,  such  needless  trouble,  and  the  like ; — but  he  an- 
swered in  his  quizzing  way,  "  Nature  herself  jirompts  you, 
when  a  stranger  comes,  to  give  him  a  dinner.  There  are 
servants  yonder ;  it  is  all  easy ;  come  ;  both  of  you  are 
bound  to  come."  And  accordingly  we  went.  I  remember - 
it  as  one  of  the  saddest  dinners  ;  though   Sterling  talked 


328  JOHN    STERLING. 

copiously,  and  our  friends,  Theodore  Parker  one  of  them, 
were  pleasant  and  distinguished  men.  All  was  so  haggard 
in  one's  memory,  and  half-consciously  in  one's  anticipations; 
sad,  as  if  one  had  been  dining  in  a  ruin,  in  the  crypt  of  a 
mausoleum.  Our  conversation  was  waste  and  logical,  I 
forget  quite  on  what,  not  joyful  and  harmoniously  effusive ; 
Sterling's  silent  sadness  was  painfully  apparent  through  the 
bright  mask  he  had  bound  himself  to  wear.  Withal  one 
could  notice  now,  as  on  his  last  visit,  a  certain  sternness  of 
mood,  unknown  in  better  days  ;  as  if  strange  gorgon-faces 
of  earnest  Destiny  were  more  and  more  rising  round  him, 
and  the  time  for  sport  were  past.  lie  looked  always  hur- 
ried, abrupt,  even  beyond  wont ;  and  indeed  was,  I  sup- 
pose, overwhelmed  in  details  of  business. 

One  evening,  I  remember  he  came  down  hither,  design- 
ing to  have  a  freer  talk  with  us.  We  were  all  sad  enough ; 
and  strove  rather  to  avoid  speaking  of  what  might  make  us 
sadder.  Before  any  true  talk  had  been  got  into,  an  inter- 
ruption occurred,  some  unwelcome  arrival:  Sterling  ab- 
ruptly rose  ;  gave  me  the  signal  to  rise  ;  and  we  unpolitely 
walked  away,  adjourning  to  his  Hotel,  which  I  recollect 
was  in  the  Strand,  near  Hungerford  Market ;  some  ancient 
comfortable  quaint-looking  place,  off  the  street ;  where,  in 
a  good  warm  queer  old  room,  the  remainder  of  our  colloquy 
was  duly  finished.  We  spoke  of  Cromwell,  among  other 
things  which  I  have  now  forgotten  ;  on  which  subject  Ster- 
ling was  trenchant,  positive,  and  in  some  essential  points, 
wrong, — as  I  said  I  would  convince  him  some  day.  "  Well, 
well !"  answered  he,  with  a  shake  of  the  head. — We  parted 
before  long ;  bedtime  for  invalids  being  come  :  he  escorted 
me  down  certain  carpeted  backstairs,  and  would  not  be  for- 


VENTNOR :     DEATH.  829 

bidden :  we  took  leave  under  the  dim  skies  ;  and  alas,  little 
as  I  then  dreamt  of  it,  this,  so  far  as  I  can  calculate,  must 
have  been  the  last  time  I  ever  saw  him  in  the  -world. 
Softly  as  a  common  evening,  the  last  of  the  evenings  had 
passed  away,  and  no  other  would  come  for  me  forevermore.  y 

Through  the  summer  he  was  occupied  with  fitting  up  his 
new  residence,  selecting  governess,  servants ;  earnestly 
endeavoring  to  set  his  house  in  order,  on  the  new  footing  it 
had  now  assumed.  Extensive  improvements  in  his  garden 
and  grounds,  in  which  he  took  due  interest  to  the  last,  were 
also  going  on.  His  brother,  and  Mr.  Maurice  his  brother- 
in-law, — especially  Mrs.  Maurice  the  kind  sister,  faithfully 
endeavoring  to  be  as  a  mother  to  her  poor  little  nieces, — 
were  occasionally  with  him.  All  hours  available  for  labor 
on  his  literary  tasks,  he  employed,  almost  exclusively  I  be- 
lieve, on  Cceur-de-Lion ;  with  what  energy,  the  progress 
he  had  made  in  that  Work,  and  in  the  art  of  Poetic  compo- 
sition generally,  amid  so  many  sore  impediments,  best 
testifies.  I  perceive,  his  life  in  general  lay  heavier  on  him 
than  it  had  done  before  ;  his  mood  of  mind  is  grown  more 
sombre  ; — indeed  the  very  solitude  of  this  Ventnor  as  a 
place,  not  to  speak  of  other  solitudes,  must  have  been  new 
and  depressing.  But  he  admits  no  hypochondria,  now  or 
ever  ;  occasionally,  though  rarely,  even  flashes  of  a  kind  of 
wild  gayety  break  through.  He  works  steadily  at  his  task, 
with  all  the  strength  left  him  ;  endures  the  past  as  he  may ; 
and  makes  gallant  front  against  the  world.  '  I  am  going 
on  quietly  here,  rather  than  happily,'  writes  he,  to  his 
friend  Newman ;  '  sometimes  quite  helpless,  not  from  dis- 
tinct illness,  but  from  sad  thoughts  and  a  ghastly  dreami- 
ness. The  heart  is  gone  out  of  my  life.  My  children, 
28* 


330  JOHN    STERLING. 

however,  are  doing  well ;  and  the  place  is  cheerful  and 
mild.' 

From  Letters  of  this  period  I  might  select  some  melan- 
choly enough ;  but  will  prefer  to  give  the  following  one 
(nearly  the  last  I  can  give),  as  indicative  of  a  less  usual 
temper : 

'  To  Thomas  Carlyle^  Esq.,  Chelsea,  London. 

'  Ventnor,  December  7th,  1843. 

'  My  dear  Carlyle, — My  Irish  Newspaper  was  not 
meant  as  a  hint  that  I  wanted  a  Letter.  It  contained  an 
absurb  long  Advertisement, — some  project  for  regenerating 
human  knowledge,  &c.  &c.  ;  to  which  I  prefixed  my  private 
mark  (a  blot),  thinking  that  you  might  be  pleased  to  know 
of  a  fellow-laborer  somewhere  in  Tipperary. 

'  Your  Letter,  like  the  Scriptural  oil, — (they  had  no 
patent  lamps  then,  and  used  the  best  oil,  7s.  per  gallon), — 
has  made  my  face  to  shine.  There  is  but  one  person  in 
the  Avorld,  I  shall  not  tell  you  who,  from  whom  a  Letter 
would  give  me  so  much  pleasure.  It  would  be  nearly  as 
good  at  Pekin,  in  the  centre  of  the  most  enlightened  Man- 
darins ;  but  here  at  Ventnor,  where  there  are  few  Manda- 
rins and  no  enlightenment, — fountains  in  the  wilderness, 
even  were  they  miraculous,  are  nothing  compared  with 
your  handwriting.  Yet  it  is  sad  that  you  should  be  so 
melancholy.  I  often  think  that  though  Mercury  was  the 
pleasanter  fellow,  and  probably  the  happier,  Saturn  was 
the  greater  god; — rather  cannibal  or  so,  but  one  excuses  it 
in  him,  as  in  some  other  heroes  one  knows  of. 

'  It  is,  as  you  say,  your  destiny  to  write  about  Cromwell : 


VENTNOR :    DEATH.  331 

and  you  -will  make  a  book  of  him,  at  which  the  ears  of  our 
grandchildren  -will  tingle ;  and  as  one  may  hope  that  the 
ears  of  human  nature  will  be  growing  longer  and  longer, 
the  tingling  will  be  proportlonably  greater  than  we  are 
accustomed  to.  Do  what  you  can,  I  fear  there  will  be  httle 
gain  from  the  Royalists.  There  is  something  very  small 
about  the  biggest  of  them  that  I  have  ever  fallen  in  with, 
unless  you  count  old  Hobbs  a  Royalist. 

'  Curious  to  see  that  you  have  them  exactly  preserved  in 
the  Country  Gentlemen  of  our  day ;  while  of  the  Puritans 
not  a  trace  remains  except  in  History.  Squirism  had  al- 
ready, in  that  day,  became  the  caput  mortuum  that  it  is 
now  ;  and  has  therefore,  like  other  mummies,  been  able  to 
last.  What  was  opposed  to  it  was  the  Life  of  Puritanism, 
— then  on  the  point  of  disappearing  ;  and  it  too  has  left  its 
mummy  at  Exeter  Hall  on  the  platform  and  elsewhere. 
One  must  go  back  to  the  Middle  Ages  to  see  Squirism  as 
rampant  and  vivacious  as  Biblicism  was  in  the  Seventeenth 
Century ;  and  I  suppose  our  modern  Country  Gentlemen 
are  about  as  near  to  what  the  old  Knights  and  Barons  were 
who  fought  the  Crusades,  as  our  modern  Evangelicals  to  the 
fellows  who  sought  the  Lord  by  the  light  of  their  own 
pistol-shots. 

'  Those  same  Crusades  are  now  pleasant  matter  for  me. 
You  remember,  or  perhaps  you  do  not,  a  thing  I  once  sent 
you  about  Coeur-de-Lion.  Long  since,  I  settled  to  make 
the  Cantos  you  saw  part  of  a  larger  Book  ;  and  I  worked 
at  it,  last  autumn  and  winter,  till  I  had  a  bad  illness.  I 
am  now  at  work  on  it  again  ;  and  go  full  sail,  like  my  hero. 
There  are  six  Cantos  done,  roughly,  besides  what  you  saw. 
I  have  struck  out  most  of  the  absurdest  couplets,  and  given 


332  JOHN    STERLING. 

the  whole  a  higher  though  still  sportive  tone.  It  is  becom- 
ing a  kind  of  Odyssey,  with  a  laughing  and  Christian 
Achilles  for  hero.  One  may  manage  to  wrap  in  that  chiv- 
alrous brocade,  many  things  belonging  to  our  Time,  and 
capable  of  interesting  it.  The  thing  is  not  bad  ;  but  will 
require  great  labor.  Only  it  is  labor  that  I  thoroughly 
like  ;  and  which  keeps  the  maggots  out  of  one's  brain, 
until  their  time. 

'  I  have  never  spoken  to  you,  never  been  able  to  speak 
to  you,  of  the  change  in  my  life, — almost  as  great,  one 
fancies,  as  one's  own  death.  Even  now,  although  it  seems 
as  if  I  had  so  much  to  say,  I  cannot.  If  one  could  imag- 
ine ' —  *  *  *  i  2ut  it  is  no  use  ;  I  cannot  write  wisely  on 
this  matter.  I  suppose  no  human  being  was  ever  devoted 
to  another  more  entirely  than  she  ;  and  that  makes  the 
change  not  less  but  more  bearable.  It  seems  as  if  she 
could  not  be  gone  quite  ;  and  that  indeed  is  my  faith. 

'  Mr.  James,  your  New-England  friend,  was  here  only  for 
a  few  days  ;  I  saw  him  several  times,  and  liked  him.  They 
went,  on  the  24th  of  last  month,  back  to  London, — or  so 
purposed, — because  there  is  no  pavement  here  for  him  to 
walk  on.  I  want  to  know  where  he  is,  and  thought  I  should 
be  able  to  learn  from  you.  I  gave  him  a  Note  for  Mill, 
who  perhaps  may  have  seen  him.  I  think  this  is  all  at 
present  from, — Yours, 

'John  Sterling.' 

Of  his  health,  all  this  while,  we  have  heard  little  defi- 
nite ;  and  understood  that  he  was  very  quiet  and  careful ; 
in  virtue  of  which  grand  improvement  we  vaguely  con- 
sidered all  others  would  follow.     Once  let  him  learn  well 


VENTNOR  :    DEATH.  333 

to  be  slo20  as  the  common  run  of  men  are,  would  not  all  be 
safe  and  well  ?  Nor  through  the  Avintcr,  or  the  cold  spring 
months,  did  bad  news  reach  us ;  perhaps  less  news  of  any 
kind  than  had  been  usual,  which  seemed  to  indicate  a  still 
and  wholesome  way  of  life  and  work.  Not  till  '  April  4th, 
1844,'  did  the  new  alarm  occur :  again  on  some  slight  ac- 
cident, the  breaking  of  a  blood-vessel ;  again  prostration 
under  dangerous  sickness,  from  which  this  time  he  never 
rose. 

There  had  been  so  many  sudden  fallings  and  happy  ris- 
ings again  in  our  poor  Sterling's  late  course  of  health,  we 
had  grown  so  accustomed  to  mingle  blame  of  his  impetu- 
osity with  pity  for  his  sad  overthrows,  we  did  not  for  many 
weeks  quite  realize  to  ourselves  the  stern  fact  that  here  at 
length  had  the  peculiar  fall  come  upon  us, — the  last  of  all 
these  falls !  This  brittle  life,  which  had  so  often  held  to- 
gether and  victoriously  rallied  under  pressures  and  collis- 
ions, could  not  rally  always,  and  must  one  time  be  shiv- 
ered. It  was  not  till  the  summer  came  and  no  improve- 
ment ;  and  not  even  then  without  lingering  glimmers  of 
hope  against  hope,  that  I  fairly  had  to  own  what  had  now 
come,  what  was  now  day  by  day  sternly  advancing  Avith 
the  steadiness  of  Time. 

From  the  first,  the  doctors  spoke  despondently  ;  and 
Sterling  himself  felt  well  that  there  was  no  longer  any 
chance  of  life.  He  had  often  said  so,  in  his  former  ill- 
nesses, and  thought  so,  yet  always  till  now  Avith  some  tacit 
grain  of  counter-hope  ;  he  had  never  clearly  felt  so  as 
now  :  Here  is  the  end  ;  the  great  change  is  now  here ! — 
Seeing  how  it  Avas,  then,  he  earnestly  gathered  all  his 
strength  to  do  this  last  act  of  his  tragedy,  as  he  had  striven 


334 


JOHN    STERLING. 


to  do  the  others,  in  a  pious  and  mcinful  manner.     As  I  be- 
lieve we  can  say  he  did  ;  few  men  in  any  time  more  piously 
or  manfully.     For  about  six  months  he  sat  looking  stead- 
fastly, at  all  moments,  into  the  eyes  of  Death  ;  he  too  who 
had  eyes  to  see  Death  and  the  Terrors  and  Eternities  ;  and 
surely  it  was  with  perfect  courage  and  piety,  and  valiant 
simplicity  of    heart,  that   he  bore   himself,  and   did   and 
thought  and  suffered,  in  this  trying  predicament,  more   ter- 
rible than  the  usual  death  of  men.     All  strength  left  to 
him  he  still  employed  in  Avorking  :  day  by  day  the  end 
came  nearer,  but  day  by  day  also  some  new  portion  of  his 
adjustments  T^'ere  completed,  by  some  small  stage  his  task 
was  nearer  done.     His  domestic  and  other  affairs,  of  all 
sorts,  he  settled  to  the  last  item.     Of  his  own  Papers,  he 
saved  a  few,  giving  brief  pertinent  directions  about  them  ; 
great   quantities,  among  which  a   certain  Autobiography 
begun  some  years  ago  at  Clifton,  he  ruthlessly  burnt,  judg- 
ing that  the  best.     To  his  friends  he  left  messages,  memo- 
rials  of  books :  I  have  CrouglCs  Camden,  and  other  relics, 
which  came  to  me  in  that  way,  and  are  among  my  sacred 
possessions.     The  very  Letters  of  his  friends  he  sorted  and 
returned ;  had  each  friend's  Letters  made  into  a  packet, 
sealed  with  black,  and  duly  addressed  for  delivery  when 
the  time  should  come. 

At  an  early  period  of  his  illness,  all  visitors  had  of  course 
been  excluded  except  his  most  intimate  ones  :  before  long, 
so  soon  as  the  end  became  apparent,  he  took  leave  even  of 
his  Father,  to  avoid  excitements  and  intolerable  emotions  ; 
and  except  his  Brother  and  the  Maurices,  who  were  gen- 
erally about  him  coming  and  going,  none  were  admitted. 
This  latter  form  of  life,  I  think,  continued  for  above  three 


VENTNOR :     DEATH.  835 

months.  Men  were  still  working  about  his  grounds,  of 
whom  he  took  some  charge  ;  needful  works,  great  and 
small,  let  them  not  pause  on  account  of  him.  He  still  rose 
from  bed :  had  still  some  portion  of  his  day  which  he 
could  spend  in  his  Library.  Besides  business  there,  he 
read  a  good  deal, — earnest  books  ;  the  Bible,  most  earnest 
of  books,  his  chief  favorite.  He  still  even  wrote  a  good 
deal.  To  his  eldest  Boj,  now  Mr.  Newman's  ward,  who 
had  been  removed  to  the  Maurices'  since  the  beginning  of 
this  illness,  he  addressed  every  day  or  two,  sometimes  daily, 
for  eight  or  nine  weeks,  a  Letter,  of  general  paternal  ad- 
vice and  exhortation  ;  interspersing,  sparingly,  now  and 
then,  such  notices  of  his  own  feelings  and  condition  as 
could  be  addressed  to  a  boy.  These  Letters  I  have  lately 
read :  they  give  beyond  any  he  has  written,  a  noble  image 
of  the  intrinsic  Sterling, — the  same  face  we  had  long 
known ;  but  painted  now  as  on  the  azure  of  Eternity,  se- 
rene, victorious,  divinely  sad  ;  the  dusts  and  extraneous 
disfigurements  imprinted  on  it  by  the  world,  now  washed 
away.  One  little  Excerpt,  not  the  best,  but  the  fittest  for 
its  neighborhood  here,  will  be  welcome  to  the  reader : 

'  To  Master  Edward  C.  Sterlincj,  London. 

'  Hillside,  Ventnor,  June  29th,  1814. 

'  My  Dear  Boy, — We  have  been  going  on  here  as 
quietly  as  possible,  with  no  event  that  I  know  of.  There 
is  nothing  except  books  to  occupy  me.  But  you  may  sup- 
pose that  my  thoughts  often  move  towards  you,  and  that  I 
fancy  what  you  may  be  doing  in  the  great  city, — the  great- 
est on  the  Earth, — where  I  spent  so  many  years  of  my  life. 


336  JOHN    STERLING. 

I  first  saw  London  when  I  was  between  eight  and  nine  years 
old,  and  then  lived  in  or  near  it  for  the  whole  of  the  next 
ten,  and  more  than  any  where  else  for  seven  years  longer. 
Since  then  I  have  hardly  ever  been  a  year  without  seeing 
the  place,  and  have  often  lived  in  it  for  a  considerable  time. 
There  I  grew  from  childhood  to  be  a  man.  My  little 
Brothers  and  Sisters,  and  since,  my  Mother,  died  and  are 
buried  there.  There  I  first  saw  your  Mamma,  and  was 
there  married.  It  seems  as  if,  in  some  strange  way,  Lon- 
don were  a  part  of  Me  or  I  of  London.  I  think  of  it 
often,  not  as  a  voice  full  of  noise  and  dust  and  confusion, 
but  as  something  silent,  grand  and  everlasting. 

'  When  I  fancy  how  you  are  walking  in  the  same  streets, 
and  moving  along  the  same  river,  that  I  used  to  watch  so 
intently,  as  if  in  a  dream,  when  younger  than  you  are, — I 
could  gladly  burst  into  tears,  not  of  grief,  but  with  a  feeling 
that  there  is  no  name  for.  Every  thing  is  so  wonderful, 
great  and  holy,  so  sad  and  yet  not  bitter,  so  full  of  Death 
and  so  bordering  on  Heaven.  Can  you  understand  any 
thing  of  this  ?  If  you  can,  you  will  begin  to  know  what  a 
serious  matter  our  Life  is ;  how  unworthy  and  stupid  it  is 
to  trifle  it  away  without  heed  ;  what  a  wretched,  insignifi- 
cant, worthless  creature  any  one  comes  to  be,  who  does  not 
as  soon  as  possible,  bend  his  whole  strength,  as  in  stringing 
a  stiff  bow,  to  doing  whatever  task  lies  first  before  him.'  *  * 

'  We  have  a  mist  here  to-day  from  the  sea.  It  reminds 
me  of  that  which  I  used  to  see  from  my  house  in  St.  Vin- 
cent, rolling  over  the  great  volcano  and  the  mountains 
round  it.  I  used  to  look  at  it  from  our  windows  with  your 
Mamma,  and  you  a  little  baby  in  her  arms. 


vextnor:   death.  337 

*  This  Letter  is  not  so  Tyell  written  as  I  could  wish,  but  I 
hope  you  will  be  able  to  read  it. — Your  affectionate  Papa, 

'  John  Sterling.' 

These  Letters  go  from  June  9th  to  August  2d,  at  which 
latter  date,  vacation-time  arrived,  and  the  Boy  returned  to 
him.  The  Letters  are  preserved ;  and  surely  well  worth 
preserving.  * 

In  this  manner  he  wore  the  slow  doomed  months  away. 
Day  after  day  his  little  period  of  Library  went  on  waning, 
shrinking  into  less  and  less  ;  but  I  think  it  never  altogether 
ended  till  the  general  end  came.  For  courage,  for  active 
audacity  we  had  all  known  Sterling ;  but  such  a  fund  of 
mild  stoicism,  of  devout  patience  and  heroic  composure,  we 
did  not  hitherto  know  in  him.  His  sufferings,  his  sorrows, 
all  his  unutterabilities  in  this  slow  agony,  he  held  right 
manfully  down ;  marched  loyally,  as  at  the  bidding  of  the 
Eternal,  into  the  dread  Kingdoms,  and  no  voice  of  weak- 
ness was  heard  from  him.  Poor  noble  Sterling,  he  had 
struggled  so  high  and  gained  so  little  here !  But  this  also 
he  did  gain,  to  be  a  brave  man,  and  it  was  much. 

Summer  passed  into  Autumn  :  Sterling's  earthly  busi- 
nesses, to  the  last  detail  of  them,  were  now  all  as  good  as 
done;  his  strength  too  was  wearing  to  its  end,  his  daily 
turn  in  the  Library  shrunk  now  to  a  span.  He  had  to  hold 
himself  as  if  in  readiness  for  the  great  voyage  at  any  mo- 
ment. One  other  Letter  I  must  give  ;  not  quite  the  last 
message  I  had  from  Sterling,  but  the  last  that  can  be  in- 
serted here  ;  a  brief  Letter,  fit  to  be  forever  memorable  to 
the  receiver  of  it : 
29 


338  JOHN    STERLING. 

^  To  Thomas  Carlyle,  Esq.,  Chelsea,  London. 

'  Hillside,  Ventnor,  August  10th,  1844. 

'My  dear  Carlyle, — For  the  first  time  for  many 
months  it  seems  possible  to  send  you  a  few  words  ;  merely, 
however,  for  Remembrance  and  Farewell.  On  higher  mat- 
ters there  is  nothing  to  say.  I  tread  the  common  road  into 
the  great  darkness,  without  any  thought  of  fear,  and  with 
very  much  of  hope.  Certainty  indeed  I  have  none.  With 
regard  to  You  and  Me  I  cannot  begin  to  write  ;  having 
nothing  for  it  but  to  keep  shut  the  lid  of  those  secrets  with 
all  the  iron  weights  that  are  in  my  power.  Towards  me  it 
is  still  more  true  than  towards  England  that  no  man  has 
been  and  done  like  you.  Heaven  bless  you !  If  I  can 
lend  a  hand  when  there,  that  will  not  be  wanting.  It  is 
all  very  strange,  but  not  one  hundredth  part  so  sad  as  it 
seems  to  the  standers-by. 

'  Your  Wife  knows  my  mind  towards  her,  and  will  believe 
it  without  asseverations. 

'  Yours  to  the  last, 

'  John  Sterling.' 

It  was  a  bright  Sunday  morning  when  this  Letter  came 
to  me  :  if  in  the  great  Cathedral  of  Immensity  I  did  no 
worship  that  day,  the  fault  surely  was  my  own.  Sterling 
afifectionately  refused  to  see  me  ;  which  also  was  kind  and 
wise.  And  four  days  before  his  death,  there  are  some 
stanzas  of  verse  for  me,  written  as  if  in  star-fire  and  immor- 
tal tears  ;  which  are  among  my  sacred  possessions,  to  be 
kept  for  myself  alone. 

His  business  with  the  world  was  done  ;  the  one  business 


ventnor:   death.  339 

now  to  await  silently  what  may  lie  in  other  grander  worlds. 
"  God  is  great,"  he  was  wont  to  say  :  "  God  is  great." 
The  Maurices  were  now  constantly  near  him  ;  Mrs.  Mau- 
rice assiduously  Avatching  over  him.  On  the  evening  of 
Wednesday  the  18th  of  September,  his  Brother,  as  he  did 
every  two  or  three  days,  came  down  ;  found  him  in  the 
old  temper,  weak  in  strength  but  not  very  sensibly  weaker  ; 
they  talked  calmly  together  for  an  hour  ;  then  Anthony  left 
his  bedside,  and  retired  for  the  night,  not  expecting  any 
change.  But  suddenly  about  eleven  o'clock,  there  came  a 
summons  and  alarm  :  hurrying  to  his  Brother's  room,  he 
found  his  Brother  djing ;  and  in  a  short  while  more  the 
faint  last  struggle  v,'as  ended,  and  all  those  struggles  and 
strenuous  often-foiled  endeavors  of  eight  andthirty  years  lay 
hushed  in  death. 


340  JOHN    STERLING. 


CHAPTER    XIV 


CONCLUSION. 


Sterling  was  of  rather  slim  but  well-boned  wiry  figure, 
perhaps  an  inch  or  two  from  six  feet  in  height ;  of  blonde 
complexion,  without  color,  yet  not  pale  or  sickly  ;  dark- 
blonde  hair,  copious  enough,  which  he  usually  wore  short. 
The  general  aspect  of  him  indicated  freedom,  perfect  spon- 
taneity, with  a  certain  careless  natural  grace.  In  his  ap- 
parel, you  could  notice,  he  affected  dim  colors,  easy  shapes  ; 
cleanly  always,  yet  even  in  this  not  fastidious  or  conspicu- 
ous ;  he  sat  or  stood,  oftenest,  in  loose  sloping  postures ; 
walked  with  long  strides,  body  carelessly  bent,  head  flung 
eagerly  forward,  right  hand  perhaps  grasping  a  cane,  and 
rather  by  the  middle  to  swing  it,  than  by  the  end  to  use  it 
otherwise.  An  attitude  of  frank,  cheerful  impetuosity,  of 
hopeful  speed  and  alacrity  ;  which  indeed  his  physiognomy, 
on  all  sides  of  it,  offered  as  the  chief  expression.  Alacrity, 
velocity,  joyous  ardor,  dwelt  in  the  eyes  too,  which  were  of 
brownish  gray,  full  of  bright  kindly  life,  rapid  and  frank 
rather  than  deep  or  strong.  A  smile,  half  of  kindly  impa- 
tience, half  of  real  mirth,  often  sat  on  his  face.  The  head 
was  long ;  high  over  the  vertex ;  in  the  brow,  of  fair 
breadth,  but  not  high  for  such  a  man. 

In  the  voice,  which  was  of  good  tenor  sort,  rapid  and 
strikingly  distinct,  powerful  too,  and  except  in  some  of  the 


CONCLUSION.  341 

higher  notes  harmonious,  there  was  a  clear-ringing  metallic 
tone, — which  I  often  thought  was  wonderfully  physiog- 
nomic. A  certain  splendor,  beautiful,  but  not  the  deepest 
or  the  softest,  which  I  could  call  a  splendor  as  of  burnished 
metal, — fiery  valor  of  heart,  swift  decisive  insight  and 
utterance,  then  a  turn  for  brilliant  elegance,  also  for  osten- 
tation, rashness,  &c.  &c., — in  short  a  flash  as  of  clear- 
glancing  sharp-cutting  steel,  lay  in  the  whole  nature  of  the 
man,  in  his  heart  and  in  his  intellect,  marking  ahke  the 
excellence  and  the  limits  of  them  both.  His  laugh,  which 
on  light  occasions  was  ready  and  frequent,  had  in  it  no 
great  depth  of  gayety,  or  sense  for  the  ludicrous  in  men  or 
things  ;  you  might  call  it  rather  a  good  smile  become  vocal 
than  a  deep  real  laugh  :  with  his  whole  man  I  never  saw 
him  laugh.  A  clear  sense  of  the  humorous  he  had,  as  of 
most  other  things  ;  but  in  himself  little  or  no  true  humor ; 
nor  did  he  attempt  that  side  of  things.  To  call  him  de- 
ficient in  sympathy  Avould  seem  strange,  him  whose  radi- 
ances and  resonances  went  thrilling  over  all  the  world,  and 
kept  him  in  brotherly  contact  with  all :  but  I  may  say  his 
sympathies  dwelt  rather  with  the  high  and  sublime  than 
with  the  low  or  ludicrous  ;  and  were,  in  any  field,  rather 
light,  wide  and  lively,  than  deep,  abiding  or  great. 

There  is  no  Portrait  of  him  which  tolerably  resembles. 
The  miniature  Medallion,  of  which  Mr.  Hare  has  given  an 
Engraving,  offers  us,  with  no  great  truth  in  physical  details, 
one,  and  not  the  best,  superficial  expression  of  his  face,  as 
if  that  with  vacuity  had  been  what  the  face  contained  ;  and 
even  that  Mr.  Hare's  engraver  has  disfisiured  into  the 
nearly  or  the  utterly  irrecognizable.  Two  Pencil-sketches, 
^ which  no  artist  could  approve  of,  hasty  sketches  done  in 


342  JOHN    STERLING. 

some  social  hour,  one  bj  his  friend  Spedding,  one  by  Bay- 
nim  the  Novelist,  whom  he  slightly  knew  and  had  been 
kind  to,  tell  a  much  truer  story  so  far  as  they  go :  of  these 
his  Brother  has  engravings  ;  but  these  also  I  must  suppress 
as  inadequate  for  strangers. 

Nor  in  the  way  of  Spiritual  Portraiture  does  there,  after 
so  much  Avriting  and  excerpting,  any  thing  of  importance 
remain  for  me  to  say.  John  Sterlmg  and  his  Life  in  this 
world  were — such  as  has  been  already  said.  In  purity  of 
character,  in  the  so-called  moralities,  in  all  manner  of  pro- 
prieties of  conduct,  so  as  tea-tables  and  other  human  tribu- 
nals rule  them,  he  might  be  defined  as  perfect,  according 
to  the  world's  pattern  :  in  these  outward  tangible  respects, 
the  world's  criticism  of  him  must  have  been  praise  and  that 
only.  "An  honorable  man  and  good  citizen ;  discharging, 
with  unblamable  correctness,  all  functions  and  duties  laid 
on  him  by  the  customs  (^mores')  of  the  society  he  lived  in, 
with  correctness  and  something  more.  In  all  these  partic- 
ulars, a  man  perfectly  moral,  or  of  approved  virtue  accord- 
ing to  the  rules. 

Nay  in  the  far  more  essential  tacit  virtues,  which  are  not 
marked  on  stone  tables,  are  so  apt  to  be  insisted  on  by  hu- 
man creatures  over  tea  or  elsewhere, — in  clear  and  perfect 
fidelity  to  Truth  wherever  found,  in  childlike  and  soldier- 
like, pious  and  valiant  loyalty  to  the  Highest,  and  what  of 
good  and  evil  that  might  send  him, — he  excelled  among 
good  men.  The  joys  and  the  sorrows  of  his  lot  he  took 
with  true  simplicity  and  acquiescence.  Like  a  true  son, 
not  like  a  miserable  mutinous  rebel,  he  comported  himself 
in  this  Universe.     Extremity  of  distress, — and  surely  his 


CONCLUSION.  343 

fervid  temper  had  enough  of  contradiction  in  this  -world, — 
could  not  tempt  him  into  impatience  at  any  time.  By  no 
chance  did  you  ever  hear  from  him  a  whisper  of  those  mean 
repinings,  miserable  arraignings  and  questionings  of  the 
Eternal  Power,  such  as  Aveak  souls  even  well  disposed  will 
sometimes  give  way  to  in  the  pressure  of  their  despair ;  to 
the  like  of  this  he  never  yielded,  or  shewed  the  least  ten- 
dency to  yield ; — which  surely  was  well  enough  on  his 
part.  For  the  Eternal  Power,  I  still  remark,  will  not  an- 
swer the  like  of  this,  but  silently  and  terribly  accounts  it 
impious,  blasphemous  and  damnable,  and  now  as  heretofore 
will  visit  it  as  such.  Not  a  rebel  but  a  son,  I  said  ;  willing 
to  suffer  when  Heaven  said,  Thou  shalt ; — and  withal,  what 
is  perhaps  rarer  in  such  a  combination,  willing  to  rejoice 
also,  and  right  cheerily  taking  the  good  that  was  sent, 
whensoever  or  in  whatever  form  it  came. 

A  pious  soul  Ave  may  justly  call  him ;  devoutly  submis- 
sive to  the  will  of  the  Supreme  in  all  things :  the  highest 
and  sole  essential  form  which  E-eligion  can  assume  in  man, 
and  without  which  all  forms  of  religion  are  a  mockery  and 
a  delusion  in  man.  Doubtless,  in  so  clear  and  filial  a  heart 
there  must  have  dwelt  the  perennial  feeling  of  silent  Avor- 
ship  ;  which  silent  feeling,  as  we  have  seen,  he  was  eager 
enough  to  express  by  all  good  ways  of  utterance  ;  zealously 
adopting  such  appointed  forms  and  creeds  as  the  Dignita- 
ries of  the  World  had  fixed  upon  and  solemnly  named  re- 
commendable  ;  prostrating  his  heart  in  such  Church,  by 
such  accredited  rituals  and  seemingly  fit  or  half-fit  methods, 
as  his  poor  time  and  country  had  to  offer  him, — not  rejecting 
the  said  methods  till  they  stood  convicted  of  palpable  un- 
fitness,  and  then  doing  it  right  gently  Avithal,  rather  letting 


344  .  JOHN    STERLING. 

them  drop  as  pitiably  dead  for  him,  than  angrily  hurling 
them  out  of  doors  as  needing  to  be  killed.  By  few  Eng- 
lishmen of  his  epoch  had  the  thing  called  Church  of 
England  been  more  loyally  appealed  to  as  a  spiritual 
mother. 

And  yet,  as  I  said  before,  it  may  be  questioned  whether 
piety,  what  we  call  devotion  or  Avorship,  was  the  principle 
deepest  inhim.  In  spite  of  his  Coleridge  discipleship,  and 
his  once  headlong  operations  following  thereon,  I  used  to 
judge  that  his  piety  was  prompt  and  pure  rather  than  great 
or  intense ;  that  on  the  whole,  rehgious  devotion  was  not 
the  deepest  element  of  him.  His  reverence  was  ardent  and 
just,  ever  ready  for  the  thing  or  man  that  deserved  rever- 
ing, or  seemed  to  deserve  it :  but  he  was  of  too  joyful, 
light  and  hoping  a  nature  to  go  to  the  depths  of  that  feel- 
ing, much  more  to  dwell  perennially  in  it.  He  had  no 
fear  in  his  composition  ;  terror  and  awe  did  not  blend  with 
his  respect  of  any  thing.  In  no  scene  or  epoch  could  he 
have  been  a  Church  Saint,  a  fanatic  enthusiast,  or  have 
worn  out  his  life  in  passive  martyrdom,  sitting  patient  in 
his  grim  coal-mine  looking  at  the  '  three  ells '  of  Heaven 
high  overhead.  In  sorrow  he  would  not  dwell ;  all  sorrow 
he  swiftly  subdued,  and  shook  away  from  him.  How  could 
you  have  made  an  Indian  Fakeer  of  the  Greek  Apollo, 
'  whose  bright  eye  lends  brightness,  and  never  yet  saw  a 
shadow  V — I  should  say,  not  religious  reverence,  rather 
artistic  admiration  was  the  essential  character  of  him  :  a 
fact  connected  with  all  other  facts  in  the  physiognomy  of 
his  life  and  self,  and  giving  a  tragic  enough  character  to 
much  of  the  history  he  had  among  us. 

Poor  Sterling,  he  was  by  nature  appointed  for  a  Poet, 


CONCLUSION.  345 

then, — a  Poet  after  his  sort,  or  recognizer  and  delineator 
of  the  Beautiful ;  and  not  for  a  Priest  at  all  ?  Striving 
towards  the  sunny  heights,  out  of  such  a  level  and  through 
such  an  element  as  ours  in  these  days  is,  he  had  strange 
aberrations  appointed  him,  and  painful  wanderings  amid 
the  miserable  gaslights,  bog-fires,  dancing  meteors  and 
putrid  phosphorescences  which  form  the  guidance  of  a 
young  human  soul  at  present !  Nor  till  after  trying  all 
manner  of  sublimely  illuminated  places,  and  finding  that 
the  basis  of  them  was  putridity,  artificial  gas  and  quaking 
bog,  did  he,  when  his  strength  was  all  done,  discover  his 
true  sacred  hill,  and  passionately  climb  thither  while  life 
was  fast  ebbing  ! — A  tragic  history,  as  all  histories  are  ;  yet 
a  gallant,  brave  and  noble  one,  as  not  many  are."  It  is 
what,  to  a  radiant  son  of  the  Muses,  and  bright  messenger 
of  the  harmonious  Wisdoms,  this  poor  world, — if  he  himself 
have  not  strength  enough,  and  inertia  enough, — and  amid 
his  harmonious  eloquences  silence  enough, — has  provided 
at  present.  Many  a  high  striving,  too-hasty  soul,  seeking 
guidance  towards  eternal  excellence  from  the  official  Black- 
artists,  and  successful  Professors  of  political,  ecclesiastical, 
philosophical,  commercial,  general  and  particular  Legerde- 
main, will  recognize  his  own  history  in  this  image  of  a  fellow 
pilgrim's. 

Over-haste  W'as  Sterling's  continual  fault ;  over-haste, 
and  want  of  the  due  strength, — alas,  mere  Avant  of  the  due 
inertia  chiefly ;  which  is  so  common  a  gift  for  most  part ; 
and  proves  so  inexorably  needful  withal !  But  he  was 
good  and  generous  and  true  ;  joyful  where  there  was  joy, 
patient  and  silent  where  endurance  was  required  of  him ; 
shook  innumerable  sorrows,  and  thick-crowding  forms  of  pain, 


346  JOHN    STERLING. 

gallantly  away  from  him  ;  fared  frankly  forward,  and  -with 
scrupulous  care  to  tread  on  no  one's  toes.  True,  above 
all,  one  may  call  him ;  a  man  of  perfect  veracity  in  thought, 
word  and  deed.  Integrity  towards  all  men — nay  integrity 
had  ripened  with  him  into  chivalrous  generosity  ;  there  was 
no  guile  or  baseness  any  where  found  in  him.  Transparent 
as  crystal ;  he  could  not  hide  any  thing  sinister,  if  such 
there  had  been  to  hide.  A  more  perfectly  transparent 
soul  I  have  never  known.  It  was  beautiful,  to  read  all 
those  interior  movements  ;  the  little  shades  of  affectations, 
ostentations ;  transient  spurts  of  anger,  which  never  grew 
to  the  length  of  settled  spleen ;  all  so  naive,  so  childlike, 
the  very  faults  grew  beautiful  to  you. 

And  so  he  played  his  part  among  us,  and  has  now  ended 
it:  in  this  first  half  of  the  Nineteenth  Century,  such  was 
the  shape  of  human  destinies  the  world  and  he  made  out 
between  them.  He  sleeps  now,  in  the  little  burying-ground 
of  Bonchurch  ;  bright,  ever  young  in  the  memory  of  others 
that  must  grow  old;  and  was  honorably  released  from  his 
toils  before  the  hottest  of  the  day. 

All  that  remains,  in  palpable  shape,  of  John  Sterling's 
activities  in  this  world  are  those  Two  poor  Volumes  ;  scat- 
tered fragments  gathered  from  the  general  waste  of  for- 
gotten ephemera  by  the  piety  of  a  friend  :  an  inconsidera- 
ble memorial ;  not  pretending  to  have  achieved  greatness  ; 
only  disclosing,  mournfully,  to  the  more  observant,  that  a 
promise  of  greatness  was  there.  Like  other  such  lives,  like 
all  lives,  this  is  a  tragedy  :  high  hopes,  noble  efforts ;  under 
thickening  difficulties  and  impediments,  ever-new  nobleness 
of  valiant  effort ; — and  the  result  death,  with  conquests  by 


CONCLUSION.  347 

no  means  corresponding.  A  life  which  cannot  challenge 
the  world's  attention  ;  yet  which  does  modestly  solicit  it, 
and  perhaps  on  clear  study  will  be  found  to  reward  it. 

On  good  evidence  let  the  world  understand  that  here 
was  a  remarkable  soul  born  into  it ;  who,  more  than  others, 
sensible  to  its  influences,  took  intensely  into  him  such  tint 
and  shape  of  feature  as  the  world  had  to  offer  there  and 
then ;  fashioning  himself  eagerly  by  whatsoever  of  noble 
presented  itself;  participating  ardently  in  the  world's 
battle,  and  suffering  deeply  in  its  bewilderments; — whose 
Life-pilgrimage  accordingly  is  an  emblem,  unusually  signifi- 
cant, of  the  world's  own  during  those  years  of  his.  A  man 
of  infinite  susceptivity ;  who  caught  everywhere,  more 
than  others,  the  color  of  the  element  he  lived  in,  the  infec- 
tion of  all  that  was  or  appeared  honorable,  beautiful  and 
manful  in  the  tendencies  of  his  Time ; — whose  history  there- 
fore is,  beyond  others,  emblematical  of  that  of  his  Time. 

In  Sterling's  Writings  and  Actions,  were  they  capable  of 
being  well  read,  we  consider  that  there  is  for  all  true 
hearts,  and  especially  for  young  noble  seekers,  and  strivers 
towards  what  is  highest,  a  mirror  in  which  some  shadow  of 
themselves  and  of  their'  immeasurably  complex  arena  will 
profitably  present  itself.  Here  also  is  one  encompassed 
and  struggling  even  as  they  now  are.  This  man  also  had 
said  to  himself,  not  in  mere  Catechism  words,  but  with  all 
bis  instincts,  and  the  question  thrilled  in  every  nerve  of 
him,  and  pulsed  in  every  drop  of  his  blood  :  "  What  is  the 
chief  end  of  man  ?  Behold,  I  too  would  live  and  work  as 
beseems  a  denizen  of  this  Universe,  a  child  of  the  Highest 
God.  By  what  means  is  a  noble  life  still  possible  for  me 
here  ?     Ye    Heavens  and  thou  Earth,  oh,  how  ?" — The 


848  JOHN    STERLING. 

history  of  this  long-continued  prayer  and  endeavor,  lasting 
in  various  figures  for  near  forty  years,  may  now  and  for 
some  time  coming  have  something  to  say  to  men ! 

Nay,  what  of  men  or  of  the  world  ?  Here,  visible  to 
myself,  for  some  while,  was  a  brilliant  human  presence, 
distinguishable,  honorable  and  lovable  amid  the  dim  com- 
mon populations  ;  among  the  million  little  beautiful,  once 
more  a  beautiful  human  soul ;  whom  I,  among  others,  re- 
cognized and  lovingly  walked  with,  while  the  years  and 
the  hours  were.  Sitting  now  by  his  tomb  in  thoughtful 
mood,  the  new  times  bring  a  new  duty  for  me.  "  Why 
write  the  Life  of  Sterling  ?"  I  imagine  I  had  a  commission 
higher  than  the  world's,  the  dictate  of  Nature  herself,  to 
do  what  is  now  done.     Sic  p'osit. 


THE      END. 


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Fi'       ■MM*!:  I'M 


IIIB 

A  A      000  269  516    1^ 
CENTRAL  UNIVEn^iTY  LIBRARY 
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UCSD  Libr. 


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